


Seeing Stars

by facade



Series: Beautiful Minds [1]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Alternating Perspectives, Ambiguous Plot, Asperger Syndrome, Astrology, Brothers, Divorce, Drug Use, F/M, Failed Rehabilitation, Family Issues, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Homophobic Language, Implied Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, M/M, Memories, Mental Health Issues, POV First Person, Schizoaffective Disorder, Social Workers, Unintentional Animal Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-03-02 06:21:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 20
Words: 38,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2802641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/facade/pseuds/facade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something - your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever." - Steve Jobs</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cris: Teddy Bears

**Author's Note:**

> I'm -SCREAMING- because I swore I lost this one but -BLESS- the AO3 and their emails post-deletion! As I don't remember the exact tags and as I will be brushing this up, tags will be updated with the fic.  
> \---------  
> In case it gets a bit too confusing... Cristiano has Asperger's and is obsessed with the constellations and the mythology behind them (or Greek Mythology in general) so it's something that he will ramble on about and liken nearly anything to. These are the aspects of Asperger's that I'm applying to his character:
> 
> -Inability to pick up on social cues.  
> -Lacking empathy  
> -Unable to recognize subtle differences in speech tone, pitch, and accent  
> -Formal style of speaking (not obvious due to the lack of direct dialogue)  
> -Overly interested in parts of a whole or in unusual activities  
> -Talks a lot about a favorite subject. One-sided conversations are common.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...you’re like a teddy bear. Almost everyone likes teddy bears and a lot of people have teddy bears. The ‘home’ is like a toy store full of teddy bears; they come in all shapes, sizes, and colors and people can come in and pick a teddy bear they like. But not all teddy bears are the same and not all of them make it to the store without suffering some form of irregularity, like a boo-boo. A boo-boo that can’t be kissed away."

"I remember their faces, all of them. I remember the sounds; a baby crying in the midst of confusion, a woman screaming “what just happened”. Your birthday is supposed to be a celebration of life, a joyous moment marking your coming to be; mine was anything but that. There was no warmth within those white walls, no tears of joy shining on cheeks, no last minute preparations, and there were certainly no flashes of cameras, no pictures being taken. Not that any of that hadn’t happened, but I guess I had just showed up late for the party.

My mother, or my portal to this earth as I so often refer to her, was only sixteen years of age at the time of my birth. She was raised by a prestigious family in Brazil, however, my grandparents weren’t exactly thrilled with my mother’s conception; their disapproval reached to the extent that they didn’t even want her to deliver her child in their country of residence. With that said, at approximately 2:43 AM in a shabby hospital located on the outskirts of Lisbon, Ricardo Izecson was born and, from what I understand, it was quite a joyous moment. My name, however, is Cris. Ricky was my womb mate of nine months. I was born just 90 seconds after my brother and my birth, well that was as much of a surprise as the first drop of rain on a warm summer day - just not as pleasant. Sometimes I still hear my portal’s voice …

“Wait! Just wait a minute, what’s going on? What just happened?”

“Ma’am, it’ll be all…” The doctor was trying to calm her down but to no avail.

“Don’t tell me that! There are two babies here! Two! Not one! Can you count sir? There’s one more baby here than there’s supposed to be!”

The doctor had stopped paying attention to her though; he was paying attention to me. You see I missed the memo, you know the one that tells you the rules of birth and what you’re supposed to do, what you’re not supposed to do. Apparently, being purple and failing to cry is on the list of ‘What Not to Do’. I blame the womb mate for that one. Enter incubator and oxygen mask.

My portal didn’t seem to care that I was purple, she was too busy going into histrionics over my existence. I haven’t had the chance to look any further into it but my portal seemed convinced, at the time, that there was some way to return me.

“Ma’am, there seems to have been complications with the latter birth.”

“Damn right there are complications! There’s not supposed to be a latter birth! There’s not supposed to be two babies in this room right now!”

“Ma’am, this is a surprise to all of us, however, you need to calm yourself down. Your child had been suffering from hypoxia, it’s a condition where the brain is not getting enough oxygen. He is okay now, he is stable but there is a possibility he may be suffering from brain damage. We are going to take the babies out of the room now and perform some standardized tests. Just try to take some deep breaths and talk your way through it.”

I am under the impression that calm and talk were not in my portal’s vocabulary at the time. I don’t know what was said, or rather yelled, after we were wheeled out of the delivery room but I do know what was said in the nursery. (‘She’s too young’), they said, (‘she’s too immature’), (‘she’s not ready to handle this kind of responsibility’), (‘she’s not even sure who the father is). There must have been some truth to what they were saying because they were using the blood of Ricardo’s umbilical cord for something. I didn’t care about any of that, though. There was a boy who seemed to be playing peek-a-boo with me from somewhere beyond the room I was in. He was standing in the hallway with an older gentleman who appeared to be extremely nervous about something. Perhaps that boy was his son, I mean after all the boy appeared to be much younger than my mother, and he had just become a father for the second time? Perchance he had become a grandpa and the boy an uncle? Who knows, all I knew was that the boy kept peeking over the bottom of the window frame. Eventually, at one point, his attention was seemingly transfixed on me until a doctor appeared in the hallway, minutes later, and started conversing with them. Every once in a while they would glance in our general direction, the boy would release a shy grin, then redirect his attention to the man in white.

“…there’s no need for two as they are twins, so after this result comes back in we’ll know for both,” the doctor was saying as he walked into the nursery. The boy and his father nodded and returned to the chairs that were lining the hall.

The boy came back the next day, alongside his adult escort, and repeated all that he had done the day before. I remember the doctor telling them something about results and how they expected to receive something the following day.

I don’t remember seeing him that following day, however, we were taken back to my portal. She was sitting up in her bed looking much calmer than she had the last time I saw her. Her hair was hanging in a loose ponytail and she had a very large, white, flannel gown draped over her small frame. She immediately picked up Ricardo and cradled him in her arms. She was cooing at him, speaking some foreign language that I now recognize as gibberish, and telling him how much she had missed him and that she didn’t want to ever be separated from him for that long again. I just lay in my basket, waiting for my turn. She dressed him in a fashionable romper and I watched as she handed Ricardo over to a guy I had never seen before; he was tall, lanky, and had light features. She was calling the guy “Daddy” and would occasionally refer to him as “Bosco”. Pictures were taken and time was flying by. Ricardo was then handed off to a “Grandma” then a “Grandpa”. I was eventually taken out of the room.

It took me until I was three years old to realize that my turn was never coming. I had pulled the short straw. According to the release of custody, she said she was “incapable of caring for two small children” at such a young age and that she would be “unable to provide a proper environment to cater to a child that may have special needs”.

Father Clarence and Mother Claudia were the only ‘father’ and ‘mother’ I would come to know in my childhood. Father Patrick Clarence was a jovial man and seemed to have a high understanding of a book about a man named “God”. He would come into the boy’s dorm at night and tell us stories from the book. He would always seem to make the stories less interesting by implicating they had some deeper meaning, I was preferable to them without said meaning. A majority of the stories would give me nightmares at night; I remember in one of them I would see three men standing in a fire and, despite what Father Clarence said, they were definitely burning. Mother Claudia, on the other hand, seemed more intrigued with the rules found within this same book and whether or not we were following them. I remember one time she found a magazine under one of the older boys’ bed. I don’t know what was in that magazine but anything other than a Bible gave her a free pass to beat the ‘devil right out’ of him. Needless to say, they fell more than a little short when it came to nurturing, understanding, and overall parenting but that was okay; it just so happened that I didn’t need an average parent.

By the time I was three, I was ready to start nursery school but had been quickly diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome. It seemed my portal was right in her assertion that I may have special needs. I couldn’t bring myself to want to play or speak with any of the other kids but it was alright because I had "science-y things"; that is until Mother Claudia said that science was founded on the Devil’s grounds. Due to my placement in a Catholic orphanage, they left the healing of my Asperger’s and love for science to God. When I wasn’t healed by God nor His Spirit, they left me to Saint Jude, and when they deemed me beyond the help of Saint Jude, they placed me to a non-denominational home that happened to be two hours away in Coimbra, as they felt it was “better suited to meet my needs”. I was just happy to finally be rid of Mother Claudia.

My counselors at the new orphanage had easily convinced Boa Ventura, another Montessori rooted school, to accept me and I started immediately. I remember my first day rather vividly, actually. I recall staring at the pavement as blood gushed from my forehead and, as I stood up and began to cry like the three year old I was, I recollect having a second encounter with said pavement. All the other kids were laughing at me, every single one of them. I remember my teacher, Mr. Mourinho, rushing out of his classroom and helping me to my feet as he sent my assailant, Nani, on his way. A Montessori 'school' doesn’t call it bullying and they sure as hell don’t frown upon such actions. Rather, I was scolded and sent ‘home’ with a note stating that I was ‘lacking a desire for self-preservation’ and that it was something they would ‘focus on instilling within’ me before I progressed out of Primary. Needless to say, these confrontations with Nani became daily and were undoubtedly encouraged by my instructors.

I remember going home, tears in my eyes, and sitting at the little round table with all of the animal stickers on it. I would look around at all of the peope, all of the couples sitting across from a child, most with smiles on their faces... I wanted that. I wanted somebody who would smile at me and hold my hand as I led them to whatever cool picture I had drawn. I had never known who the people were who came and went, only that sometimes they would take one of us with them, away from this place. They had never wanted to see me, though. I felt that if they were given the chance to meet me, to get to know me, they'd want to take me with them...

“Cris, I’m trying to think of a way to put this... in a way that someone like you can understand. You see, you’re like a teddy bear. Almost everyone likes teddy bears and a lot of people have teddy bears. The ‘home’ is like a toy store full of teddy bears; they come in all shapes, sizes, and colors and people can come in and pick a teddy bear they like. But not all teddy bears are the same and not all of them make it to the store without suffering some form of irregularity, like a boo-boo. A boo-boo that can’t be kissed away. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

I slowly nodded.

“Okay, so you’re like a teddy with a little tear in him and mommies and daddies don't like tears.”

“Well, can the mommies and daddies just fix the tear?” I was becoming increasingly worried about what she may say next; let’s just say I didn’t cast my worries in vain.

“Well, why on earth would anyone want to get a defective toy when there are several perfectly good ones, Cristiano? I mean, that’s a lot of burden to cast on someone; it’s actually quite selfish of you to expect someone to just willingly take all of that on,” she scoffed.

“...but, but it’s just a tear! You just need to sew it back together!”

“We are finished talking, Cris. See to your studies and don’t waste another minute worrying about mommies nor daddies.”

That was the last and only time I had inquired about all of the mommies and daddies coming into the orphanage and taking home new additions hence completing their little families. I had simply asked when my turn would come. I was only three years old but I understood what the headmistress had said; I am a teddy bear that nobody wants, one with a boo-boo that cannot be kissed away.


	2. Cris: Wish Into the Smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...such things were beyond the powers of smoke and a flame."

I remember the flicker of the candle burning bright just atop the white frosting of my cupcake. I remember staring at it, trying to figure out why it was there, what it was that I was supposed to be celebrating, and why a little flame was the accepted way to do it. My own mother hadn’t been happy about my birth so surely these other people were merely feigning joy around me. They didn’t make a big deal of it, there were too many of us for them to go all out for just one, but they did sing to me and pinch at my cheeks just before wishing me a ‘happy fourth birthday’ and going about their business.

I remember staring at that single candle for what seemed to be hours, trying to figure out exactly what it was I wanted to wish for - what it was I wanted most. Most four year olds would instantly close their eyes and silently request a cool new car to play with, maybe even a new bike. I, on the other hand, thought about wishing for another star chart, I had already memorized all of the ones at the orphanage, or maybe even a star to name for myself. Just before I blew out the candle, I remember stopping to watch as a girl my age waltzed out of one of the interview rooms, holding the hand of what she was telling everyone would be her new daddy. I remember closing my eyes as tightly as I could, everything in my mind going black except for one thing – my wish.

The wind generated by the ceiling fan beat me to it though, and I ended up blowing at nothing but smoke.

“Oh, I see you’ve finally made your wish, Cristiano.” A man chuckled just before sitting in the chair directly beside me. “What did you wish for?”

His name was Alex, but everyone else on the floor referred to him as ‘Fergie’ for a reason unknown to me, and he had been my case worker since I had arrived at Casa Pia a little over a year ago. We had a lot in common, the most notable being that we didn’t belong where we were – myself in here and him in Portugal. He told me once that he hadn’t intended to be in this country long, that he was going to head to a place called England before something ‘special’ had caught his eye. He said that he needed to look after this ‘special’ jewel, see that it was tended to properly. I never quite understood what that ‘special’ something was that he had been referring to with that mystical wink of his, perhaps he was simply talking about the country's wine or maybe he was talking about an actual, shining rock but why he didn't just take it with him was beyond me. Perhaps he knew something I didn't. He knew a lot of things I didn't…

I offered him a shrug with wide eyes in exchange. You see, I had never spoken to this ‘Fergie’ once in the year that I been at the home. It wasn’t anything against him, I hadn’t breathed as much as a word to anyone else since the last exchange I had with the headmistress – a year ago. I didn’t understand what insight they could possibly offer me on my current ‘situation’, what reassuring and comforting thing they could possibly say after that. People there didn’t understand me and didn’t seem to want to. How then, could they speak on, about, or to what they themselves didn’t know, didn't want to know. All they saw was a defective child when they looked at me, a ripped teddy bear.

“I see Nani clocked you in the cheek again,” he snickered as he brushed my cheek with the surface of his knuckles, “I don’t understand why they keep sending you to that Montessori, it’s like they’re marching you to your own doom. No matter, lad, you’ll toughen up eventually. Did you wish for his demise or did you save that one for the stars?” I didn’t understand why he was laughing to begin with, there was nothing funny about having gotten hit the face, but he was going red faced over the last thing he had said. People are beyond me. “No, never mind, lad. You keep that to yourself. It's bad luck to share.”

I remember the confusion I felt in that moment, it was as if the man just had a conversation with himself. It wasn’t the conversation that left me in bewilderment though, it was the knowledge that this man was regarded as ‘normal’ and I was not. I had no intention of informing him of my wish to begin with nor had I projected any intent of offering another dimension to his conversation. I simply sat there, in my confusion, and shrugged.

I don’t know what I did to further amuse him but he smiled and offered me a small chuckle. “I do have a surprise for you, lad. Come here, I want to show you something!”

I remember sliding out of my seat and glancing over at my cupcake (I was unaware at the time that it was the last time I’d be seeing it – one of the teenagers took it as soon as I had left the room). I remember watching as the smoke ascended and then dissipated beneath the heavy draft being engendered by the fan, watching as my one wish was scattered into bleak nothingness. I had always held on to the hope, the possibility that the headmistress of the home was wrong, but after a year and zero interviews the facts spoke for themselves. I had watched quietly, pretending at times to be studying my charts of the sky, as children entered the home only to leave with a new family days later. I tried convincing myself that I didn’t care, that families were overrated anyway – I failed multiple times. There was one instance, however, when a boy who had called himself Wayne had strolled through the home and had picked me out to be his new brother. I remember being dragged over to his parents who eventually spoke with the headmistress; needless to say, I didn’t find my happy ending and I gave up on the notion that one existed for me. I didn’t understand it, not at the time. The boy had accepted me as normal, as if I were the way I should be – the way I was intended to be – why couldn’t his parents?

No matter, I hadn’t wished for a new ‘mommy’ nor a new ‘daddy’ anyway, such things were beyond the powers of smoke and a flame. No, I wished for the next best thing. 

“Cristiano? Are you coming, lad? You are going to love this, at least I think you will.”

It wasn’t often that I followed him nor any of the other workers down the corridor as that right was usually reserved for the ‘distraught youth’ of the home but the faces of the founders, the ones that hung on the walls, seemed to be condemning me all the same. In retrospect, I can’t help but think of ‘how convenient’ it all was: the flame being extinguished before I had the chance, wishing into smoke - thus tarnishing the purity of my wish, the faces on the walls... Everything. How convenient it is that I received my wish - just as defective as me - though I now live under the notion that perhaps our dreams and wishes are better left unfulfilled. Perhaps wishes are meant to be made silently to prevent them from escaping into reality, to prevent them from materializing in this world, to prevent them from being tainted by our imperfections. Obviously, my defects or imperfections are beyond most... 

After all, my tarnished wish is what brought me here, before you.


	3. Ricky: No Take Backs

"I can remember exactly what she was wearing on my fourth birthday and I can still see her brown hair whisking across her face as she stood among all of the other adults. She had been wearing a flowing white dress with a brown straw belt that reached around her waist and brought the dress against her for one last time before it extended down to her ankles; the dress was light enough to ride the wind when it blew. I had thought she looked like an angel. I remember her red lips and I remember hearing her laugh sounding from beneath the rim of a straw hat and I remember as it too was carried away with the breeze. My mother was beautiful, perhaps the most gorgeous woman I had ever seen. She had always been a very well put together woman, always wearing the nicest clothes that money could buy and adorning herself with the finest jewelry. She had a smile that lit up the room and a laugh that seemed to put anyone within a ten mile radius of her at ease and in good spirits.

I remember hearing the sound of the creaking of my rope swing as the rope ground against the bark of the oak tree and I remember looking up to the leaves of the tree so I wouldn’t get dizzy from my quickly blurring surroundings. I was content and everything was perfect… and just like that the laughter and perfection had subsided. Sure, the world may have been distorted around me as I climbed higher and higher into the air but their voices were distinct. You see, my parents always had a bit of tension between them over something that had happened several years ago (or so said my grandmother) and, while my mother brushed it beneath the rug, my father seemed to carry it with him throughout my entire life, though on that day he was carrying something more. My mother had sent him to the bakery to retrieve my cake and I can remember hearing her yell at him upon his return, hearing her ask why he was doing ‘this’ to her. I can still hear the frustration in his voice, he seemed as if he was jaded, tired of her and of the argument that they were about to have.

My father was a strong and hardworking man, I can’t think of a time when he wasn’t busy at work. That’s not to say that he didn’t spend any time with me but it was often spent doing work around the house or running errands of sorts. He often advised me that everything he had, he had because he worked hard for it and he wasn’t going to let me go through life without learning how to do for myself. He was generally a quiet and ‘to-himself’ man who only spoke when necessary or when he was scolding me but when he did speak, his voice always seemed to ‘boom’, it held so much authority and so much command that it wasn’t often that any one dared defy him – except my mother.

I remember hearing her advising him to ‘take that thing out of here’ before I saw it and before any of their friends saw it. She was doing her best to impress upon him that today was not the day for ‘that’ and that "he" was something she had never intended on discussing with me at any point in time. Her voice was firm and sounded similar to the one she had used on me the day before when I had gotten into her bag of flour. I remember hearing her ask him why he was so insistent on bringing "him" up today, why he was so intent on ruining my special day by dwelling on "him".

As my swing slowed and as the world came back into focus, I remember looking over to them in the hopes of seeing what it was that was at the center of her discontent. I was confused to find that she was so upset about him having brought back two cakes rather than just the one she had ordered. If anything, I remember being thrilled that I had two cakes but when I ran up to them I realized that the second cake wasn’t for me. It had four candles lit up and sticking out of the top of it, just like mine. It said ‘Happy Fourth Birthday’ on it just like mine and was shaped like a football, just like mine. One said ‘Ricardo’ on it and the other had been plunged to the earth before I could make out the letters.

My mother had started yelling again, pointing at me and telling my father to look at what he had done. He didn’t though, he just stood there shaking his head while he looked down nostalgically at the destroyed cake on the ground. If I remember correctly he had just started crying before he ruffled my hair and wished me a Happy Birthday adding that this was a special day for me and, that one day, I would meet a 'special person' who shared this day with me. He told me that even though that ‘special person’ didn’t get to be here with me, that regardless of how hard my mother tried, "he" was still in all of our hearts and thoughts as "he" was a part of us and, especially a part of me.

I remember the glare and the sight of my mother's mouth opening to say something, something that never came out as the rest of the gathered group had made their way outside. They were surrounding the other cake that my father still held, my cake, and laughed as they admired all of the details of it. Some noticed the other cake on the ground and one of my mother's friends made a joke about always being prepared. Others noticed that pieces of the cake containing the other name were not the letters of mine, they noticed the name that I had not and had started whispering their speculations amongst themselves. My grandmother, in particular, gave my father an accusatory glare before she led everyone into the merriment of my special day. I can still hear my mother's voice singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to me, the same voice that I heard only minutes before whispering coldly to my father was now warmly and joyously celebrating me. I remember most, though, the distant look in my father's eyes as he stared into the flames of my burning candles. 

My father moved out the very next day and I never did get the chance to ask him about that special person. I remember waking up that morning and nearly tripping over the suitcases that had been placed at the bottom of the stairwell, thinking nothing of them as I made my way around them. The smell of chorizo had aroused me from my sleep and had carried me as far as the dining room before the hushed whispers of my parents had stopped me. My mother was asking my father what he thought it was he was doing, telling him that he couldn’t just leave his family to find a person who may or may not exist anymore. I could picture her arms crossed sternly over her chest and all of her weight shifting to that right leg as it always seemed to do when she was upset. She didn’t seem angry anymore, I actually remember her sounding a bit desperate as she told him that she wouldn’t let him do this to me, that she wouldn’t let him leave us like he was…

I remember forcing my way into the kitchen, pleading with my father as I did, willing him to listen to my mother and stay here with me, with us. I remember the warmth as he scooped me up into his arms and held me close but I also remember the wet cold of my tears as they strayed from my cheeks. I was so scared; I had a friend in school whose father left promising to come back though he never did. I didn't want that, I wanted my family to be whole and complete. I told my father just as much and I can still remember that sympathetic smile on his face as he told me that he wanted the same and that's why he had to go to Portugal. He wiped my tears away as best as he could and placed a single kiss on my forhead before placing me back on the ground. I remember wrapping myself around his leg, begging for him to stay with me anyway and promised that I wouldn't play with his [Hot Wheels] car collection ever again if it meant he would stay. I even secretly took back my birthday wish for a brother and wished for him to stay...

He left anyway. I guess wishes are non-refundable."


	4. Cris: Twinkle, Twinkle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I picked this family more for the city than I did for their credentials, I’m not going to lie to you lad. I figured that it was a place that a special young man such as yourself would enjoy and appreciate."

I can vividly recall the anxiety building up within me – Alex told me that it was just ‘butterflies in my stomach’, though I hadn’t understood what he meant as it’s illogical for butterflies to be in one’s stomach – as I watched him tossing my luggage into the trunk of one of the home’s black sedans. I don’t like change much but I had spent so much time convincing myself that it was what I wanted, I had even wished for this not even a week ago, but to see it actually happening…? I had sat on the front steps of the home, clutching my knees to my chest fighting back the urge to scream from the top of my lungs. I had never been so afraid in my life, I was watching as my dreams came true and suddenly it was the worst thing in the world. I would be going to a new place, a new town, and a new home with a new family; I knew that they wouldn’t ever be a family of my own – my family - but they would still be a family.

“Cristiano, what’s the matter lad? I thought you would be happy to get out of this place, to be moving in with your new foster family.”

I remember looking at him and simply shrugging, as I always did, and redirecting my attention to the blue skies above in the hopes of catching sight of an early star. You know, I never did like that lullaby – Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star – I hate it with every fiber of my being. I know what they are as does most of society, they’re nothing more than massive, luminous spheres of plasma being held together by its own gravity. There is no mystery behind them, they are what you see of them, nothing more. Yet most people still feel as if there’s something special held deep within their cores, that there has to be… That’s why they feel so inclined to wish upon them. If people could think that about a star, an inanimate ball of plasma, then why couldn’t they…”

“Mr. Aveiro, we understand this is hard for you but if you can…?”

“So-sorry about that. I get… It’s part of. Anyway, Alex sat there with me for about thirty minutes after that, just giving me time to digest everything, time to come to grips with exactly how much my life would be changing from that point on. If it had been up to me we would’ve sat there all afternoon until the stars came out. They may have been stupid but they were consistent, never changing – like me. I had accepted at four years old that this was the way I’d always be and that there was nothing that could ever change that; the people and things around me would so often, but me? Never. And now, here I was…

“Cristiano, I know how you must be feeling. It’s normal to be feeling a bit scared.”

I remember looking at him in awe, wondering if he thought it was hot outside as well, if he could feel the sun burning against his skin in the same places I did. I even surreptitiously pinched my arm just to see if he would jump or rub at that very spot on his own arm – it didn’t work. I didn’t understand, he said that he knew how I felt yet he sensed none of the same things I did.

I remember taking a big breath of air and climbing into the car without sparing him as much as a glance. In my mind, in the blink of an eye, I had managed to convince myself that if I didn’t get into the car within that very instant then I would never have another opportunity to see my wish transform into a reality ever again. I remember fastening myself against my seat as tightly as I could, more to restrain myself from fleeing back into the comfort of familiarity than for safety purposes. My heart was pounding in my chest and I felt dizzy but I remember the sound of the key turning in the ignition the most.

The near two hour drive to Elvas was probably the longest of my entire life, neither the new scenery nor Fergie’s “you know you’re only going to be about ten miles from the Spanish border” offered me any form of solace. On the contrary, I felt even more nauseated as I felt the contents of my stomach threatening to resurface. I swallowed it all back down – like the four year old I was – as the walls of Elvas came into view. I remember thinking that I had never seen a place like that before in my entire life, not once in my books nor in the Portuguese documentaries I had taken a fancy to.

“I picked this family more for the city than I did for their credentials, I’m not going to lie to you lad. I figured that it was a place that a special young man such as yourself would enjoy and appreciate. It’s something of a fortress on the Portuguese border and there’s a lot of history within its walls. I suppose you’ll figure all of that out for yourself though.” I remember the smile on his face and I remember how wide it grew when I returned it for the first time in our short history together. “There you are, lad. I see you now.”

After a few grumbles of discontent and several stops for directions, Fergie eventually found the house he was searching for within the Pious Subdivision of the city, the home of a couple named Figo. As they had expected us a half hour before we had actually arrived, they rushed out to greet us vocalizing their concern and apologizing for having given directions that weren’t nearly thorough enough. After they had ushered us inside, they introduced themselves as Luis and Helen. 

“It’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance Mr. Figo…” I heard Alex say as he extended his hand towards the home owner.

“Oh, no. Please, Mr. Ferguson, Luis will do just fine.” I didn’t like him from the instant I first saw him, there was something about him that struck me wrong. Then again, it wasn’t peculiar as I didn’t care much for anyone. I wasn’t sure at the time of who these people were and, in the event that they were unremarkable, I brushed them off. “And you must be Cristiano?”

I remember feeling my lip quiver and my face flush as the attention suddenly shifted from mere formalities to myself. I just stared at the hand he had held out, trying to figure out what it was that I was supposed to do with it. I’ve always been awkward with human interactions. I dug around in my pockets and placed the lint I found within them into his hand, earning a chuckle from him. Once again, I found myself baffled as I tried to discern what comedic event had just occurred.

“Why don’t you go explore a bit, Cristiano.” The woman whose name was Helen suggested as she ushered me into the backyard. “There’s a lot for us adults to discuss and there’s plenty of children in the neighborhood. Our two will be home from school in a couple of hours but I’m fairly certain there’s a few kids your age over at the playground just across the street.”

I didn’t like exploring, I didn’t like new things, and I certainly didn’t like new people – so I settled for the alternative and sat on the stoop instead, watching as the children played across the street. They made it seem so effortless, they were laughing together, playing together… I never understood ‘together’ but they made me want to. It was almost as if fate had heard me because that was when I met him…

I remember the burning sensation on one side of my face and the texture of the blood dripping from my nose. I hadn’t even seen them playing football in the yard next door but when their football slammed into the side of my face… their presence had definitely been felt.

“Oh no! You killed him, Sergio! He’s dying!” I heard a voice wail from the other side of the stone wall fence.

“No, I didn’t Fabio… At least I hope I didn’t.” I remember hearing their voices growing closer and I remember thinking that there was something different about that voice.

“That’s a lot of blood. I’m going to tell.” I remember hearing the third voice coming from right in front of me but I was too scared to look up.

“Pepe, you better not! Hey, are you okay?” The person with the different voice, the one with the accent different from all of the others, sat down beside me lowering his head to where I had to look at his hair at the very least. “Please don’t die. I don’t want to go to timeout!” I could feel his eyes on me, studying me, waiting for me to answer him. “Did I break your throat?”

I simply shook my head and finally made eye contact with him; though it was brief something told me that I’d be looking into those almond eyes for years to come.

“Are you sure?” He asked as he looked at me in disbelief. “I’m a really good doctor. My daddy says so. Say ‘ah’… Oh no, you can’t even say ‘ah’. Nurse Pepe, give me your tongue stick!”

I panicked as I watched one of them run over to the trees lining one side of the fence and pluck a twig off of one of their branches. They were the first people I spoke to in more than a year. 


	5. Cris: The Resonance

I remember shuddering as the sound of my own voice emerged and expanded beyond my own lips, awestruck by the sound of it breaking into the world around me for the first time in a year. It was a strange feeling for me – for the year up until that point (given that I was only four it was a large amount of my life) I had disconnected from everyone and sought refuge within myself – to be regarding something that was -mine- as atypical and different. If nothing else, I knew myself quite well; there wasn’t supposed to be any surprises and there wasn’t supposed to be any uncertainty… but for the first time [in my short existence] I was rediscovering something about myself, old yet forgotten. The resonance of my own voice.

I hadn’t realized how much power a single sound had held, what I had truly suppressed when I had first taken my vows of silence in spite of the headmistress, not until I saw Pepe drop the twig and rejoin the intrusive ‘doctor’ who referred to himself as Sergio. “Ah…”

It sounded raspy, foreign and dissimilar to anything I had thought it to be. Perhaps our voices are like steel left out in the middle of a thunderstorm, rusting over time as it is further neglected, transforming to something else entirely due to the chemical changes it had incurred. I remember closing my eyes tightly, afraid that they may laugh at me for something I couldn't pin point, afraid of what they may have been thinking about my voice, afraid of what they may say. 'He's different' and I knew I was but I don't think I could've handled hearing it again. 

I didn't have to worry long as I heard Segio informing 'Nurse Pepe' that I, the 'patient', had been cured. He seemed quite pleased with himself, standing there seemingly under the illusion that he possessed, what I had been informed by Father Clarence to be, the healing hand of a man named Jesus. No matter, I was simply relieved that he wasn't making fun of me to the extent that I remember releasing a sigh of relief for having, in my mind, successfully conned my peers for the moment.

My relief had quickly faded though as it was replaced by panic. I tried to gulp down my reservations but my throat had gone dry as the one called Fabio offered the 'doctor' his counter argument. He informed the 'doctor' of his concerns, saying that he wasn't too sure the I was all better. I thought that he had surely figured me out; I remember thinking that he had to have known that I was different, that my voice alone had betrayed me. I was never great at reading people - on the contrary, I could never tell when they were being serious or joking, if they wanted me to be quiet or keep talking - but I could see the kindness in Fabio's eyes and his voice in itself was about as quiet as mine had been. I remember him smiling at me and I knew that he wasn't about to pick on me or make me want to curl up into a ball and cry. Rather, he told 'Doctor Sergio' to check for frogs as he felt as if my voice was 'too low' and 'too scratchy'. "My daddy always gets them stuck in his throat," he had said before turning to try to catch a glimpse inside of my mouth that still hung open. I closed it as Fabio told me another thing that his father had said, something about never trusting a Spanish doctor.

'Doctor Sergio' didn't seem to appreciate the input of the smaller boy, stating that he had heard me and that, because he was the doctor that it was all that had mattered. He hadn't forgotten Fabio's comment about Spanish doctors though, as I can easily remember him threatening to tell on Fabio for calling him Spanish, that his name was Sergio and not Spanish. Sergio had made it as far as the fence before Pepe stopped him to inquire about the possibility of there actually being a frog in my throat. Sergio had told the other boys that, because he didn't want to go to jail for 'malfaface', he would double check.

I remember him placing himself back in front of me, directing me to open my mouth for a second time. I refused again, knowing that it was illogical for there to be a frog in my throat. I had shaken my head so rapidly that the world seemed to be spinning around me by the time I had stopped - I had felt as if I had slammed by brain directly against the barriers of my cranium with each twist of my neck. It was a strange time for me, I can easily recall wishing that they would just go away and let me be but I can also recall hoping that they would stay there, with me, and keep me company. I remember feeling as if I didn't want them around, feeling as if I was being suffocated by their presence but I remember feeling even deeper inside of me that I was breathing for the first time in my life. I remember hating that Sergio continued to acknowledge me despite my silence yet I seemed to love it even more. For the first time, I wasn't being regarded as a defect, a person whose existence is burdening the rest of humanity.

I had pressed my lips together as tightly as I could, shivering as Sergio had placed his fingers against my lips. I had decided that staring down at the little brown shoes on the feet of the 'doctor', though something about them told me they had been white not that long ago, would be better than allowing him to look into my eyes and see me for who I truly was. His touch was gentle at first but I quickly realized he had intended on parting my lips with those grubby fingers and, when he failed to do so, he summoned 'Nurse Pepe' once again requesting the 'tongue stick'. I could feel his eyes on me as he had sighed, he seemed to be exasperated by my defiance.

I had frantically looked back into the expectant eyes of 'Doctor Sergio' who had placed his hands on his hips as the headmistress would do when we stressed her out. I didn’t want to talk to him anymore but I suppose I didn’t like the idea of a twig being shoved down my throat even more. So I promised him that I didn’t have a frog in my throat but he wouldn't back down unless I pinky-promised, so I did.

I can remember giggling as Sergio offered Fabio a snide smirk, saying that he wasn't Spanish because he knew what he was talking about and went so far as to suggest that perhaps Fabio was Spanish. Sergio was something else, I guess he had always been but I would be lying if I said that I wasn't scared of him at first. He was loud, intrusive, and quite vocal… I guess there are more people who are just as unchanging as the stars than I had initially thought there to be as that was something he had maintained through the years. I remember grimacing as he redirected his attention back onto me, stooping to where he was only mere inches from my face. He asked me if I was sad about something before quickly asking if I had just moved here. Before giving me a chance to answer, though I doubt I had intended to, he informed me that his mommy and daddy lived in a place called Seville and that they just came here sometimes. I'm not sure what he wanted me to say, if anything, but he had quickly fallen back to his interrogation requesting my name and age.

Fortunately, Alex unknowingly came to my rescue, commending me for having made new (as if I had any 'old' ones) friends so quickly. I had been too flabbergasted by Sergio’s line of questioning to even regard my case worker but when I finally caught back up to the present, I remember giving Alex a bewildered expression, trying to figure out what had made him think I was 'friends' with these other kids. I mean, I had always wanted a friend but my disorder has always made friendship seem to be beyond my reach. Just the fact that he was interpreting that interaction as a friendly gathering spread a warmth through my chest; I still can't figure out what it was that I was feeling. Alex pulled me from my thoughts again as he asked who I was in company with.

I remember thinking that I wanted to be as fearless as him, he was deterred by nothing it seemed. He spoke as if he had something to say and as if all of society was obligated to hear it. He informed Alex that his name was Sergio in what I perceived to be a challenging manner, though my perceptions were often (always) wrong. He then turned the tables, asking Alex if my name was, in fact, Cristiano commenting that he had approved of the different name for me. He asked him pretty much all of the same things he had just asked me: my age and if I had just moved here, only he pleaded for Alex to let me stay with the assertion that I needed to continue treatment as I was not yet well.

His 'nurse' backed him informing Alex of the testing that they had done, warning him that they thought there was a frog but there wasn't and how it had given them all quite a scare. Pepe always was a bit dramatic but he was always true to those he regarded as friends. He went as far as telling Alex that Sergio had saved my life... In retrospect, it seems as if he was eluding to a truth that I would soon discover; it's funny how life has a way of dropping those subtle hints.

I had watched as Sergio fervently nodded and I remember releasing an involuntary shudder as he grabbed at my wrist. I had never liked being touched – not by anyone or anything – but when he grabbed at my wrist I couldn’t help but feel as if he was telling me that I belonged there, with them. I had always wanted to belong but I never had, I never knew how. I was always the shape cutter without the matching slot. In the years that followed, Sergio had taught me that it wasn’t me who needed to contort to what society expected of me, that it was society that needed to change - that the slots could be carved a little wider. Of course, he hadn’t taught me that at four – at four, he simply showed me that I -could- belong if I allowed the right people in… 

Alex had reassured them that I’d be staying with the Figo’s but that I could no longer play as I needed to go inside to spend time with the couple who would be playing the role of my foster parents. The three boys had seemed to accept that, though Sergio warned Alex what would happen if I didn’t drink the concoction of mud and water he had formulated to cure my ailment. With one of the most grave of expressions I had ever seen in my life, he told Alex that if I didn't drink it all then I would surely die. I remember the smile on Alex's face as he graciously accepted my 'remedy', thanking the 'doctor', and left it on the family’s dining room table with a chuckle, explaining the exchange to my foster’s. Shortly after, he bade me farewell with a smile and a small, yet disturbing, squeeze on the shoulder.

I can vividly recall the first sit down I had with them, my fosters. I can remember the scent of a tapa unguardedly frying in the kitchen, the feel of the leather beneath me, the sound of my nerve ridden breaths, coming and going. Luis welcomed me to -their- home while reminding me that I was but an orphan who didn't have parents, that they were not nor would they ever be my 'mommy' and 'daddy'. He seemed to be going out of his way to make me feel unwelcome and unwanted as he set the rules of the house, most applying because I was not -their- son. I remember feeling foolish - Sergio, Fabio, and Pepe had accepted me - I had forgotten that no one wanted a broken toy. I vowed that I would never allow myself to fall into that sort of delusional thinking again, that I would never again expect someone to accept me as I was.

I could belong... somewhere, I just didn’t belong there, not in the home so firmly claimed as 'theirs'. 


	6. Cris: The Ugly Duckling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> João is ten years older than Cris in this (14) and Miguel is eight years older than Cris (12).

I met their children shortly after and each of them received a nod of approval, their parents seeming to free them to give me a piece of their minds. I can’t remember much about what they had said, I seem to have blocked it out, but I remember smiling at João and crying by the time Miguel was finished with me. I remember hearing Luis tell João once that he wasn’t their kid, that there was no way Helen could have borne a child so different than the rest of them, and I remember agreeing with him silently to myself. João had always been kind to me, though he was kind to everyone, which drew quite a contrast with the treatment I received from Miguel and the rest of the Figo’s. He would always help me with my chores behind his parents back while Miguel would be right behind him undoing all of the mess we had just made tidy – whether João helped me out of pity or sympathy was, and has always been, irrelevant to me.

That night, after we had all washed up from dinner and after we were all sent to our rooms, I remember João sneaking into my room and reading to me by way of the moonlight. I can vividly remember the story, the story about the mother duck and all of her eggs. After they hatched, though, one of the little birds wasn’t like the rest and all of the others picked on him. So he left the barnyard and eventually found another home only to be teased relentlessly once again and, once again, he goes off on his own.

I remember looking at João as if to ask him if I was the ugly duck, pointing to the picture of it then to myself, and I can remember him shaking his head ‘no’ scolding me (with a small apologetic smile) because the duck was a "metaphor". At the time, I had simply responded with a quizzical expression, though I know what a metaphor is now... I have to remember to thank him for that the next time I see him. He pressed a finger to my lips shortly after, telling me to ‘shh’ (as if I had spoken) so he could finish the story – so he could tell me what became of this ‘ugly duck’ and what would become of me.

At some point in time, the ‘ugly duck’ wanted to leave with a flock of migrating swans but he was still too little. By the time winter arrived he was still on his own, cold and miserable, and had sought refuge in a cave. Then the spring came and everything changed for him. The flock of swans came back to the now thawed lake and the ugly duckling decided that he didn’t want to be alone anymore. I remember crying into my pillow that night, simply because I didn’t like being alone either. Unlike me, though, that duck had grown and matured and had decided to throw himself at the flock of swans deciding that it was better to be killed by such beautiful birds than to live a life of ugliness and misery. He didn’t want to live... I just wanted a chance to.

Fortunately, João didn’t send me to bed with nightmares. At the end of the story, that ‘duck’ was welcomed and accepted by the other swans, he had found out that he had grown and matured into one of them. I remember going to sleep that night ready for my happily ever after, ready to spread my wings and take flight with my new family as the 'ugly duck' had.

Sergio had other plans, though. I’m still not sure of how long I had been sleeping when I heard the tapping at my window but the moon’s position in the starry sky seemed to indicate that it had not been long at all. He had used a stick to reach the bottom of the window and was rapping away at it quietly with that. Mind you, I didn’t know it was him at the time and I had already had the firm [illogical] belief of the boogeyman instilled within me by Nani. I nearly urinated myself but my fear of the Figo's outweighed my fear of the boogeyman and that did well to keep my bladder under control. Eventually, I worked up the gall to look out the window and there he was: pajamas, slippers, and night cap tapping on my window. I cautiously opened the window, making sure to do so quietly, in an attempt to see exactly what it was that he had wanted. As he welcomed himself in, I remember praying to Mother Claudia's Jesus for Sergio to have forgotten about his 'healing concoction' of mud water. He all but fell into the room as whatever container he had been standing on collapsed beneath his weight.

Sergio was still sniffling when he told me that his ‘mommy’ and ‘daddy’ were not friends anymore and he was still wiping away the few straying tears when he made himself comfortable in my bed. You didn't have to listen too hard to hear them yelling at one another next door. I was beyond confused, though, and I didn’t know what it was that I was supposed to be doing. I was never any good at comforting people and I have always struggled in trying to relate to them. So I just sat on the day bed beside the window, in the spot that João had been sitting in when he told me about the duck, and told him nearly everything I knew about the stars and the constellations, naming as many as I could and telling him the stories about Orion and his fall to Scorpio… The stars were all I knew, they had become an obsession in my early childhood, something of an escape as they were the only things that drew my interest. I talked to him for thirty minutes about the stars, though I'm sure I could have gone on about them for much longer, interrupted only by his giggles or questions.

I remember him looking back at me from my bed and, for the first time in that thirty minute [one-sided] exchange, I remembered that I was supposed to be the ugly duckling. That this was the part where he would laugh at me and call me names because I was different. This was the part where I would run off (or chase him off because he was in my room) in shame and sadness. That never happened, though. Instead, he asked me why I liked the stars so much, a question I genuinely did not have an answer for [outside of saying that it was because I was broke that way]. He carried on anyway, informing me that his ‘daddy’ had told him that stars were broken lights, that they did not work anymore but that because it takes the light too long to get here... "Boom."

Of course, I had already known that but the way Sergio had worded it made my mind start ticking. I remember the sinking feeling in my gut, the sound of my heart pounding against my chest, the burn as my tears gathered at my eye lids. I had just spoken to Sergio more than I had ever spoken to anyone in my entire life and I was scared of the rejection. I asked him anyway. I asked him if he hated the stars because they were broken, if he hated broken things. I'm not too sure he was used to being confused, that confident little boy, but he certainly was for a moment though the emotion quickly faded. His eyes seemed to widen and brighten as he reached into the front pockets of his flannel pajamas and dug around for something. He eventually pulled a little figurine out of it, one I quickly recognized to be Superman. After staring at him admiringly for a few moments, he held him up for me to see and informed me that it was his most prized possession. He told me that his ‘daddy’ had given it to him and quickly pointed out that his Superman was missing his left forearm; he told me that a lot of his favorite things were broken.


	7. Cris: A Day of Firsts

I woke up that very next morning to Sergio jumping on top of me, kneeing me in the chest every now and again. As I attempted to protest his assault I had noticed that he was no longer clad in his pajamas from the night before, rather he had been fitted with a pair of blue jeans and a nice polo in their place. I’m sure he must have slipped off back home in the middle of the night and, at the time, I presumed he had snuck back in if only to pester me. He kept bouncing on the mattress until I came tumbling out of the bed and onto the floor and giggled as the ‘thud’ echoed off the walls as if his mission had been completed. I hadn’t been sure of why he had been doing it at the time, though I doubt he did it out of pure meanness as Miguel would have. I remember sighing as Helen poked her head into my room, mentally preparing myself for whatever she had to say. I was never great at listening to people for the simple fact that I had never be great at understanding them; I had been expecting her to yell at me about something that I should’ve been doing or, more obviously, for Sergio’s presence in my room. Fortunately for my ears and dignity, Helen advised me that she had let ‘my friend’ in that very morning and that he was insistent on walking with me on my first day of school. As she closed the door, advising me that I needed to be dressed and downstairs within the next ten minutes, Sergio tackled me back down on the bed as soon as the door had clicked to a close. As we laid there, me, in complete confusion, and him, in total relaxation, he asked me if we could be best friends forever. He assured me that we would do everything together and made me aware of all of the camp outs we would surely have, promising that there would be an abundance of adventures that we would have, just him and I… Sometimes I wonder if he knew how far he would go to protect that promise.

That morning though, we settled for making it to the school in one piece and that meant successfully evading the Ferreira’s terrier, Riley. It was our first 'adventure' and it was far from our last. We weren’t alone in our conquest that morning though; we were met just outside of the Figo’s home by the two boys I quickly recognized to be Pepe and Fabio. Sergio reintroduced me to them as -his- best friend and the other two seemed to approve of my new title. After putting our heads together (I did so literally though I offered no ideas) we worked out a plan to distract the wretched Riley, one that [unfortunately] involved the sacrifice of Mr. Bento’s cat. I swear, he looked for that thing for months before he finally gave up hope on it. A few scratches and hisses later, Pepe had successfully tossed the feline over the fence and the sounds of rabid barking followed by the sounds of a cat hissing and then groaning filled the entire neighborhood. Of course, being kids, we were simply pleased that we would be walking to school in peace without Mr. Ferreira's dog chewing on our ankles. We hadn't realized exactly what it was we had done to Mr. Bento's cat in the process.

Sergio had grabbed my hand as we made our way into the school building and told me to follow him and that he knew where he was going because he had been here before when his mommy came to meet the teacher. He led me to a small classroom towards the center of the school where we were stopped just outside of the door by a woman who Sergio assured me to be Ms. Neto. She asked Sergio who I was and he answered her by simply giving her my name and tried to push past her through the door. I wanted to cry as she stooped down in front of me and did her best to look at me in the eyes. She was too close to me and I didn’t like any of the attention she was giving me. She told Sergio that this wasn’t my classroom and that I had to go down the hallway to a different room, to the one that the principal had assigned me to. I remember going wide-eyed as she told Sergio that I was a little different than the rest of them and, though it wasn't necessarily a bad thing she assured him, I needed to be in a classroom tailored to my needs. Of course, this information didn’t sit well with Sergio and he made it obvious by dramatically pouting as he crossed his arms against his chest and refused to go inside the room without me. After twenty minutes of his defiance and refusal to let me go amid accusations that the teacher didn't like me because I was different, we ended up in front of the principal’s office alongside her assistant. All on my first day of school. 

Mr. Lima hadn’t seemed like a kind man but he sat there and patiently listened as Sergio explained to him that he refused to go to class unless I went with him just further proving that I knew nothing about people. Sergio even got the intimidating man to chuckle when he informed him that the teacher turned me away because I was 'different' and that his daddy said that if we were all the same then the world would be a boring place. When he turned to me, seeming to expect me to say something, Sergio informed him that I ‘refused to speak to anyone’ other than himself and that was why it was imperative that he be there with me. Mr. Lima had nodded and looked down at the paperwork he had of mine that surely must have indicated to him that I wasn’t as normal as I seemed. After a few moments of thought and after tapping away at a few of the keys on his keyboard for a bit, he eventually surrendered to Sergio’s plan and gave us permission to return. He handed a sheet of paper to the assistant and told Sergio that he had to promise to help me if he wanted me to stay there. Sergio thoughtlessly gave his word and all but dragged me back to classroom, busting through the doors in triumphant victory.

That first day of school was perhaps the hardest for me; we were forced to introduce ourselves in front of the class and were urged to share something that we thought was unique about ourselves. When it was Sergio’s turn, I remember feeling him tugging at my arm telling me to go up there with him. He introduced himself and informed the class that he was only going to be there until winter before he had to go back to Spain. Oh, and he didn’t forget to mention that he was a doctor. When the attention turned to me, however, Sergio didn’t stop talking. He introduced me as his best friend, Cris, of whom he had saved from a frog and that I had just moved there from "somewhere". He told the class that I thought I was broken but he quickly assured them that I was not and that I was probably from space because I knew a lot about the stars, more than anyone he’s ever met. I ended up laughing for the first time in my life that day.

After school, Sergio deemed it best that we head home without Pepe and Fabio because he was certain he had seen them at the principal’s office. I can remember everything about that afternoon: the exact position of the sun in the sky, the smell of the dirt rising from the earth with the breeze, that one cloud that defied the blue sky, the sound of the leaves rustling in the trees, the sound of Mr. Bento calling for his cat. Sergio had grabbed my hand with his and had pulled me back to where he could properly kiss me on my cheek before he entwined our fingers together. We walked the rest of the way home that way…

…much to the discontent of Miguel who had spotted us as we approached the house. He yelled and called us ‘faggots’ as we came within earshot and told us that we were going to go to hell. We may not have understood what it was he was calling us, we were only four at the time and we didn’t know much about anything (though Sergio claimed he knew all there was to know of ailments and medicines) but João seemed to have a pretty clear understanding of what Miguel was saying. Based solely on the way João clocked Miguel in the face and the manner that he had shoved him into the dirt in, we knew that being called a ‘faggot’ was far from a good thing. The exchange between the two of them forced Sergio and I to take a blood oath later on in the week, in which we vowed never to be a 'faggot', whatever that was. João reassured us that Miguel was what he liked to call an ‘asshole’ (I remember thinking that he didn't look like one as I've seen what they look like) as we drew closer to the house and, with a smile, he promised us he’d make us a bowl of ice cream while we did our homework.

I remember the sounds of the car door closing as Luis made his way inside and the sound of his gasp as he caught sight of Miguel's bruised face. I had just swallowed the last spoonful of my ice cream as Luis stormed inside demanding answers from João who simply shrugged and said that he wasn’t sure where Miguel had gotten his bruising from but that he probably had it coming to him. Luis, however, wasn’t satisfied with that answer so he turned to Sergio who offered him a less-likely story about thugs, mobsters, and a damsel in distress. Miguel found his voice, eventually, and told his father what had actually transpired and he made sure he didn’t leave out a single detail. I had just gotten up from the table and was walking over to the sink to clean my bowl when Luis sent Sergio home, who nonchalantly complied informing me that he’d see me later.

I remember the creaking sound the sink made as the water forced its way up from the pipes but I remember the sound of his footsteps walking towards me the most. I remember the coldness of the water as it trickled across the surface of my skin but I remember the burning feeling as his fist came into contact with the back of my head the most. I remember seeing a blue bird land on the window sill but I remember my world going black shortly after the most. 

Some wishes are only beautiful in theory.


	8. Cris: Gemini (The Twins)

I never told anyone other than Sergio about what had happened that afternoon, it was something their whole family had vowed to never speak of again – neither João nor Miguel nor Luis had ever breathed a word of it to Helen – and it was something that I had intended to forget entirely. It was the only time Miguel and João had witnessed it. It was the only time they had the opportunity to see their father for the monster he truly was and he told them that it had been the only time he had done it, but he had lied to them – it wasn’t the last time. I remember waking up in a haze, struggling to breathe against the thick fabric of my comforter. My head was still pounding as the first of my senses took over. I remember hearing João yelling for his father to stop, he was calling him a ‘sick fuck’ but Luis was over talking him, trying to convince him that he was simply teaching me a lesson about ‘faggots’. I remember making out the blurred form of Miguel shoving João out of the room and locking the door as he told his father to ‘do it’ because ‘the little faggot needs to learn’. The pounding on the door and the screams of João pleading with his father, those sounds embedded themselves within me, he was doing everything within his own power to get the man to stop… He told me, when I got a little older, that he regretted not having called the police then and there but admitted that he had been selfish at the time and was afraid of what it would do to -their- family ...and that he had been wrong in his adolescence for not regarding me as such.

I cried in bed for hours after it was over – the Figo’s allowed me to skip dinner as Luis told Helen that I was simply exhausted after my first day of school – the pain was unbearable and the lesson had scarred itself within me. I didn’t even try to hide my tears from Sergio when he snuck in through my window that night. We simply sat on the edge of the bed sniffling together. I knew why he was there, in my room, in tears as I could easily hear his parents arguing again but I had no intention of telling him why there were tears pouring out of my eyes. He didn’t even ask me why I was crying, though, not immediately at least. After a few moments of quiet sniveling, he simply climbed into my bed, dragging me under the covers with him and asked me to tell him more about the stars.

After a few minutes of whispered stories, Sergio decided he needed a visual aide and ended up convincing me to sneak out of the house with him so we could get a better view of the stars as I talked about them. We wandered around aimlessly for several minutes before we eventually found ourselves on the swings just across the way from our backyards, looking up towards the heavens. I told him about how Aquila carried Zeus’ thunderbolts for him and he pointed out a cluster of stars that seemed to form an elves hat together. I showed him Perseus and told him that he beheaded the snake-headed Medusa and he told me that ‘Perseus’ looked like a squiggly line and nothing more. Before I could get angry and protest he finally asked me about what had made me so sad; he asked me if Miguel had gotten me into trouble. I remembering nodding and telling him that Miguel had told on me for something - I hadn't even been sure of what it was that I had gotten in trouble for at the time. I remember leaning over towards him, whispering that I knew what a faggot was and that I never wanted to be one. I remember seeing his eyes go wide as I told him – as I told him what he had done to me, what Luis had… Sergio held my hand [tightly] for what seemed like hours after that and never let it go once as we silently watched the moon glide across the sky.

Things were like that for years, Sergio would come to Portugal for the summer and would head back to Spain with his parents during the winter break. In the summer, we would spend our time lounging beneath the branches of the old oak tree at the park, watching as Pepe and Fabio flirted with the girls from school. Sergio would join them every once in a while but I was still too scared to talk to anyone other than Sergio so I spent my time between watching them [amused] and dreaming of another world and another life. Sometimes, if I closed my eyes tight enough, I would genuinely feel as if I was somewhere else, as if I was someone else. I remember looking up into the branches of that old oak tree, some days surprised to find the leaves and branches blurring together to form a mixture of greens and browns. I had thought I was going blind at first, at least until I realized that the world had seemingly started to move around me: back and forth, back and forth… I heard laughter but it hadn’t belonged to any of the kids in the park, it was a woman’s laugh that seemed to warm the air around me further. She was nowhere to be seen but I could feel her.

Fall would roll around and Sergio and I walked to school together every day, though we had stopped holding hands when we had turned seven, I didn’t like the attention we were being given and Sergio had gotten into one too many fights over it. The principal had started giving us duplicate schedules after my first year of schooling so we had never left each other’s side, at least not until the winter break rolled around. I didn’t understand it at the time, I had attributed it to the fact that Sergio was my only friend, that he had been the only person I could actually talk to, but still… Every time winter break came around I would get this sickening feeling in my stomach, very unlike those butterflies Alex had eluded to so many years before, I didn’t want to leave my bed and I wanted to do anything other than see him off. As we grew older, the winters grew harder and seemed to drag out longer.

I was fifteen when Sergio’s parents finally divorced. Both of them had been too stubborn to give up on it over the eleven years prior and neither of them possessed enough empathy to realize what they were doing to Sergio in that time. I remember waking up to the all too familiar sounds of them arguing, the intensity of their words spurring me out of my bed and through my window. Sergio had never taken their incessant bickering well, after Helen had caught him sneaking into the house when we were six he had resorted to seeking solace and refuge elsewhere. I found Sergio where he always went to when they fought like that, lying on the roof staring at the stars. I would join him and listen as he told me every detail that had led up his parents yelling and screaming. I never knew what to do after that, so I had always resorted to comforting him with a story about whatever constellation was above us. Not that time, though. Not that night. That night, as we sat under the stars, he told me about one of the constellations…

> _“Do you know that constellation, Cristiano? That one up there?” Sergio pointed to a cluster of stars that hung just above them, a group of stars that came together to form something of a plateau. “Do you see it?”_
> 
> _Cristiano nodded, assuring Sergio that he did see it, and furrowed his eyebrows together. He was surprised that he did not know the name of that cluster and simply shook his head. “No, Sergio. I don’t know that one, I’m sorry.”_
> 
> _Sergio chuckled and reached down to hold Cristiano’s hand in his, entwining their fingers together as he did. “It’s alright Cristiano because I know what constellation that is.” Before Cristiano had the chance to ask him why he had asked if he already knew, he continued. “That’s the Gemini constellation or ‘The Twins’. According to the stories, the Queen of Sparta had given birth to two sets of twins – one boy and one girl in one set, one boy and one girl in the other. One set of the twins was fathered by her husband, the King of Sparta, while the other set was fathered by Zeus, the King of the Gods. All four of the kids were raised together and the two boys were inseparable.” Sergio took his eyes off of the stars and looked just beside him to where Cristiano was still lying, staring up at the heavens completely entranced by the story. “One boy – Castor – mortal, the other – Pollux – immortal…but their differences didn’t matter. They went on great adventures together, travelling far and wide. A fight broke out on one of these adventures, though, a fight with some landowners. Castor was killed and Pollux, he was inconsolable and pleaded with his father, begging Zeus to allow him to die so he could become reunited with his brother. His love was so strong for Castor that Zeus eventually agreed to keep them together for an eternity… They spend half of their time in the depths of the underworld and the other half in the heavens, right there.” Sergio could feel Cristiano’s hand tighten around his and smiled. “I learned that in the library yesterday when I was in there for detention, I figured you’d appreciate it.”_
> 
> _Cristiano finally took his eyes off of the heavens and refocused on Sergio. It was late in the night and usually Cristiano would struggle in distinguishing the features of the Spaniard from among the the dark shadows of the eve but every star had shown brightly in the cloudless sky that night and Cristiano could make out Sergio’s soft, affectionate smile perfectly. “You actually read, for me?” It was as impressive as it sounds._
> 
> _Sergio giggled as he leaned down and met Cristiano’s lips for the first time. It was both of their first times kissing so it was far from… Well it was perfect, for them. “You are my Castor after all, Cris.”_
> 
> _Cristiano didn’t understand metaphors all too well but he knew that Sergio meant that to be a kind thing. “Why do you get to be immortal?” He chuckled as Sergio pulled him closer. Cristiano didn’t like being touched, even less with the situation going on with Luis, but this… This he could get used to. “Why do you get to be Pollux?”_
> 
> _“I have to be strong for you, Cris.” Sergio answered as if it were obvious. “We’re going to go on many adventures together and, if you die, I’ll die with you.” Sergio kissed Cristiano again and promised that they’d never be apart._

He meant it, too, because by the time winter break rolled around the Figo’s and the Ramos’ were already weeks deep into talks about me joining them [the Ramos’] in Spain for the rest of the school year. The Ramos’ claimed that Sergio had become more well behaved since having met me while the school board made the argument that Sergio had made sure that I kept my marks up in school. In truth, Sergio knew about everything that Luis did to me behind closed doors and he was afraid of his parents doing that to him if he had misbehaved or... He became quite the angel while at home. In truth, I was the one who made sure Sergio stayed focused in school and did his homework properly. It didn’t matter, though, because in the end we found ourselves sitting side-by-side in the car on our way to Seville, waving farewell to Pepe and Fabio.


	9. Cris: You're Not...? Are You?

It wasn’t a long trip to Seville, it was actually only a two and a half hour drive, but Sergio’s parents had made it an insufferable one. By the time I stepped onto Spanish soil for the first time, I was sure I already knew enough about the division of assets and prenuptial agreements to become a divorce attorney myself – if I ever had the desire to submerse myself in such a miserable line of work. They had been kind enough to leave Sergio out of their bickering for the most part but the fact that they had made a scene in front of me had made Sergio quite angry regardless. He had interrupted them multiple times, scolding them as if they were toddlers because ‘Cris doesn’t handle conflict well’ and ‘Cris doesn’t need to hear all of this’. It was enough to quiet them for a few moments before either of the two thought of something else that just had to be settled that very instant. Sergio and I hadn’t exchanged a word throughout the duration of the trip but we had shared enough groans of discontent and had swapped enough raised brows for the silence between us to be comfortable.

I can remember the house perfectly – it was beautiful – very unlike any of our homes back in Elvas. They had an actual yard with grass growing all around whereas the yards in Elvas did not extend beyond a backyard. It had three floors to it and a winding staircase – Sergio had told me once that his parents had bought a home so large in the hopes that he’d get lost in it. There were more doors than I could count and I would have hated to be the person who was responsible for cleaning their windows. As soon as we had pulled up in the drive of their [massive] Sevillan home, Sergio threw himself out and onto the ground, kissing the soil just before he raised his hands graciously towards the heavens. I didn’t understand what he was doing nor was I sure of why he was doing it but the look on his parents' faces indicated that it was a disrespectful thing for him to do. I was half expecting his father to slap him on the back of the head, knowing that that’s exactly what Luis would do, but he simply shook his head and started pulling the bags out of the trunk of the car. He asked us to help him carry some in, receiving raised eyebrows and a scoff from Sergio and an extended hand from me. He thanked me just before muttering something about Sergio being a lost cause. Sergio seemed perfectly fine to me but I decided against arguing with the elder Ramos. I smiled, instead, and pulled two of my bags out of the jumble of luggage.

I remember tugging one of my heavier bags up the stairs as he spoke to me. He was mainly saying obvious things like, ‘You don’t talk much. How are you friends with my Sergio again?’ and ‘Sorry about the drive. We just don’t know when to stop fighting, I guess.’ When we finally made it to the rooms, though, the direction of the conversation changed dramatically. I had just lifted my own bag onto the bed of the guest room he had told me to be mine; I remember shuddering as he placed a hand lightly on my shoulder – I had never liked being touched, not by anyone other than Sergio – and I remember the look in his eyes as he asked me if I was gay. He had quickly removed his hand from my shoulder, surely he had sensed my discomfort, and had pulled a chair out from the desk that had been pressed up against the wall and had made himself comfortable.

I wasn’t sure of what to do or what it was that I was supposed to tell the man. I mean, I knew what being gay was but the truth be told, I wasn’t sure if I was. At that time, I had never even spoken to anyone other than Sergio, let alone kiss anyone other than Sergio. Mind you, we had only shared a kiss that night under Gemini and had never spoken of it again – sweeping it under the rug hadn’t been my idea, though – we simply carried on with our friendship as if kissing was a perfectly normal thing for friends to do. Sure, I would still find him on the roof the nights his parents fought and I would still ramble on about the stars; Sergio would still look at me with those eyes and he would still brush himself against my hand in that way, but that was all that had happened between us though.

Sergio’s father had offered me a small smile after a few minutes had passed and told me that it was okay if I was gay. I remember frantically searching for Sergio, knowing that he'd surely save me from the torment of his father. He kept trying to assure me that it was okay if I was gay but I wasn’t sure if it was – I was never any good at reading people and I still had my lesson on 'faggots' embedded within me – and I wasn’t entirely comfortable having that conversation with Sergio’s father.

> _“Cristiano, I’m not attacking you, son. I promise. I’m just… I’m worried about Sergio. I mean, if he’s gay that’s perfectly fine with me but I don’t… What’s wrong, Cristiano?” He had been studying the young man across from him and couldn’t help but notice the tension building up in the boy’s shoulders and the amount of worry in his eyes. “Cristiano?”_
> 
> _“Dad, what are you doing?” Sergio appeared in the doorway and protectively made his way over to Cristiano. “Cris, are you alright? Damn it, Dad! Get out of here!”_
> 
> _“Sergio, don’t talk to me like that. I was just asking your friend here a question and he… Is there something that I need to know, Sergio? Are you having…? If you are, that’s fine, I just need to make sure that you’re being…”_
> 
> _“Dad! What the hell?” Sergio looked scandalized that his father had even gone there. He groaned as he reached out and pulled Cristiano off of the bed by the other boy’s bicep. “Come on, Cris! We’re meeting up with Fernando and Iker at the park to play some football. Dad, just stop. Please.”_
> 
> _“Be safe, Sergio!” And that was the end of it for the time being._

  



	10. Fernando: Beautiful Voices

"I was five years old the first time they called on me. I was five years old the first time I saw them materialize just in front of me. We had just moved back to my native country of Spain from England and, in the beginning, I was happy to have met them, happy to finally have somebody to talk to. I was practically shaking with excitement as I introduced them to my mother for the first time, who chuckled as she greeted them. I found out later that she had dismissed them as my ‘imaginary’ friends and would often invite them to stay for dinner under the impression that it was me who was eating all of the extras. “I will fix a plate for your newest friend and, if he eats all of his food, he, too, may have some dessert”. She didn’t understand, though. They weren’t imaginary, they were very real and had quickly worn out their welcome; I didn’t want them to stay anymore. They weren’t the ‘friends’ she had labelled them as, they were quite the opposite really. They would whisper awful things to me and often would force me into doing a lot of things I didn’t want to do, sometimes they even went so far as to hurt me. I would often find myself crying in front of my mother as blood trickled out from a deep scratch on my arm or as a bruise set to green on my cheek. She had stopped inviting my ‘friends’ over for dinner when they had started doing that - hurting me.

My father didn’t understand it either. He didn’t like me talking to them as much as I didn’t like talking to them but they gave me no other choice. I tried ignoring them as best as I could, tried anything to block out their venomous words. In my young age, I would simply cover my ears in a [vain] attempt to drown them out, closing my ears and eyes, doing anything to make them go away. My efforts to hush their noise, however, increased with my age as did their aggravation with me - their aggravation with my choice of ignorance. They don’t like it when I choose to ignore them - they never did - they hate it actually. I had successfully ignored them for three whole days once, and they had not been happy about it. They were irate, fuming, and eventually I felt myself being pushed off of the swing in the park. I knew that they had snapped and had finally done something to make me hear them, though my mother claimed that I had simply fallen off of the swing and had broken my arm. When I tried to tell the nurses that I had been pushed, my mother covered my mouth with her soft hands and gave me a small smile. “Hush, my dear Fernando. Don’t speak as your words are more powerful than you think. If you tell them, you will go.”

I loved my parents and the thought of being pulled away from them was more than I could bear. I never tried to speak of the voices to anyone outside of my family again – at least not until my school friend, Sergio, introduced me to him. I was fifteen when Sergio came back from Portugal for Christmas (as he had done every year) and for the rest of the school year with a friend of his, one he claimed to be his best friend. I had only heard of Cristiano over the many years that I had known Sergio leading up to that moment and, when I met him, I was actually surprised that somebody like Cris could be friends with somebody like Sergio: Cris was quiet and very to himself, the only noises he made seemed to be sighs of contentment and little sounds indicating thought whereas Sergio had always been the type to announce his own presence and intention to anyone and everyone willing to listen. They were so different but you could tell that they went well together.

I had gone to the park to meet up with Iker to play a little football, he had told me that he had invited a few other people to join including Sergio and his Portuguese friend. We had only been at the park for a few minutes when we saw them walking up, Sergio blissfully ignorant to everything and his friend, Cris, painfully aware. Iker and I decided to jog up to meet them and to let them know that we were still giving the rest of the guys a few more minutes before we started. Sergio had snatched us both into his arms instantly and had all but squeezed the life out of me. I remember how excited he was as he introduced both Iker and myself to the infamous Cristiano, who had acknowledged us by a small, unsure smile and an awkward wave. Sergio reminded us that Cristiano was shy and that he didn’t do well with figurative language or physical touching; Iker had forgotten about the physical touching but he withdrew his hand as soon as the reminder reached his ears. It was funny, awkward… I laughed and it confused Cristiano because he had missed the gesture and my laughter had earned me a scowl from Sergio.

Iker and Sergio decided that they needed to build up some sort of strategy before everyone else arrived and left Cris and me standing there in mutual awkwardness. There was something about him that I could never forget, something in his aura that told me there was something special about him – about his silence. The discomfited atmosphere eventually subsided, either that or I had simply began to find comfort in it, and I dared myself to speak to this specimen, this person that had Sergio missing Portugal every time he’d come back to Spain. I asked him what part of Portugal he was originally from because he didn’t seem like a native of Elvas. I received a shrug as he rubbed his arm and bit his lip – acknowledgment is progress, right? I don’t know why I did it, why I shared that piece of myself with him – perhaps I knew he wouldn’t tell anyone, perhaps it was because we were both alike in our own socially unacceptable ‘weirdness’ – but I did.

As Sergio and Iker talked about a game plan and a strategy, I talked to Cristiano about the beautiful voices. As Xabi arrived and told Sergio about the hot English boy he met over the summer, Steven, I spoke with Cristiano about the awful things those voices would tell me – were telling me. As Xavi pulled on his cleats, telling Sergio that he had just had the cast removed from his foot that day for him, I told Cristiano that my beautiful voices were more than voices… As the other boys arrived and took their places on the pitch, I found my place in Cristiano’s heart I suppose... because he spoke to me." 


	11. Iker: Just Different

"I can remember that day perfectly, everything about it; I was beyond excited because Sergio was supposed to be coming back from Portugal with his friend, Cris. I had heard so much about the other boy and saw the look in Sergio’s eyes when he talked about him, so to say that I was anxious to meet Cristiano would’ve been an understatement. I had ran by Fernando’s house and had dragged him out of there in record time, I’m still surprised I managed to get him to the park in one piece. Cris was, well he was different and, to be honest, I would’ve been surprised if he was what society deemed to be ‘normal’ – Sergio had always been drawn to the unique and has always liked to have diversity amongst his friends. Cristiano was… I don’t know but I liked him, a lot. He was approachable and friendly, he was definitely awkward and quiet but he was certainly friendly. From the way Sergio had babbled on and on about him and their friendship back in Portugal, he seemed to balance out Sergio perfectly and Sergio seemed to offer what Cristiano didn’t have – a bold sense of perspective. It was often that Sergio would drag somebody to the football pitch; that’s how I met Xabi and Xavi…

I still remember when he dragged Fernando to the football pitch for the first time. I mean Cristiano was quiet and unsure of himself, that was easy to see, but Fernando had always been a bit... eccentric. He would often make up words that he could never define for anyone and he could never follow a conversation for more than a minute and, to be honest, it was frustrating at times. I would ask him about his grades and he would start talking about the weather, his dog, and then some football player… I would never receive an answer for whatever question I may have posed but I had always tried anyway. He barely ever made any form of eye contact, but I would always make an effort, and he generally had a blank facial expression – no smile, no frown, just nothing – but that was okay with Sergio, it always was. He didn’t care about any of that nor did it bother him that Fernando, even at fourteen and fifteen years old, still required help from his parents when he was getting dressed. I had never heard him ask about it, not once, he simply accepted Fernando for who he was. I guess an attribute like that is contagious because I started to do the same. When Sergio would leave for Portugal, I made looking after Fernando whilst at school my priority and did my best to involve him in everything we did. He’s always been different, not in the not normal way – well, he was that too – but different for me.

That day, though, Sergio and I had started talking about a game plan and setting up the teams for the match but I had noticed Sergio’s eyes drifting over to Fernando and Cristiano often. I tried snapping my fingers beside his face for a couple minutes and when that didn’t work I popped him across the back of the head.

> _“Oye, Sergio. Would you pay attention?” Iker sighed as he snapped his fingers beside Sergio’s face. “They’re doing fine over there, trust me. I’m sure Fernando’s already told him a little bit about everything…” Iker chuckled as he briefly looked over and back at Sergio who was still ignoring him. Iker sighed helplessly and gently slapped Sergio across the head as he muttered something about Sergio’s attention span._
> 
> _Sergio smiled with soft fondness as he continued watching the two boys standing awkwardly around one another. There was no animated conversation going on between the two of them, but he had expected that, however there was a one sided conversation going on – that was a surprise. “Look at that, Iker.” Sergio whispered while redirecting his attention back on Iker, jerking his head towards the two other boys. “Fernando’s actually talking to him.”_
> 
> _Iker looked over to where the two boys were standing and furrowed his brows together. “Well, will you look at that? Fernando’s not even trying to pull away from him.” It came as a shock for Iker as, every time he would approach Fernando in the school halls, Fernando would often try to avoid him. Iker wasn’t a quitter though and would always manage to get beside Fernando to listen to his random ramblings. “You think Cristiano initiated…?”_
> 
> _“No way,” Sergio quickly interjected, shaking his head rapidly with a small smile. “Cristiano doesn’t really talk much unless you’re talking about stars. His eyes are always up and away from where ever he may be. I don’t think he’s ever started a conversation in the time that I’ve known him. Hell, getting him to join in one is difficult enough.”_
> 
> _“Well, it seems Fernando’s figured it out.” Iker chuckled as he looked back at Sergio, eyes wide and brows raised. “Fernando’s something else, huh?”…and Fernando was something else. When Sergio had first introduced Iker to Fernando, Iker was certain that he would despise the English boy originally from Spain; it only took him two days to warm up to him._
> 
> _“Yeah,” Sergio whispered back distractedly as he looked down at the grass crunching beneath his shoes. He had been thinking a lot lately, something that was new for him. “Iker, can I ask you something?” He felt nervous and scared but he couldn’t talk to Cristiano about it – Cris would never understand – and talking to his father? Yeah, that was definitely out of the question. “Do you think it would work?”_
> 
> _Iker scrunched up his face and looked away from Sergio, unsure of what it was Sergio was asking. “Do I think what would work?”_
> 
> _Sergio rubbed nervously at the back of his neck and bit his lip, suddenly unsure of himself. “Just over a month ago, I had heard my mother asking my father for a divorce and I was pretty upset about it so I went up to the roof to, you know, think and shit.”_
> 
> _“Yeah. Sergio where is this going?” Iker was confused but continued listening anyway._
> 
> _“Cristiano’s always been there for me, quiet but there. He always sneaks out of his house when he hears my parents arguing because he knows that I’m on the roof. Every time, Iker. I was upset and I… He was there and we’ve always, I don’t know it just felt right and I…”_
> 
> _“You what, Sergio?”_

I was beyond shocked when he had told me that he had kissed Cristiano and was even more surprised to hear that he wanted to do it again. The way he described it and the look on his face when he did only assured me further that he was being serious about what he was saying – much to my displeasure. I’m not homophobic, not at all. That’s not why I was so against it; I’ve just always been the cautious type, so I’m sure that it came as no surprise to Sergio when I had told him that I thought starting something with Cristiano was too risky... I mean, I had listened to Xabi talk about his ‘fling’ with Steven and had actually listened to him cry over the phone just after Steven called it off because he had to go back to England – I mean, could you imagine what a broken heart like that would do to somebody like Cristiano? I was just worried, about both of them, but Sergio had already seemed to have had his mind made up so I just told him to be careful." 


	12. Cris: Odysseus and the Sirens

> _Once he hears to his heart's content, sails on, a wiser man._  
>  _We know all the pains that the Greeks and Trojans once endured_  
>  _on the spreading plain of Troy when the gods willed it so—_  
>  _all that comes to pass on the fertile earth, we know it all!_
> 
> _-_ Homer's _The Odyssey 12.188–91,_ Fagles' translation

I liked Fernando, not as much as I liked Sergio, but enough to feel comfortable around him. He spoke of things that I didn't quite understand - which wasn't uncommon for me - but then he started telling me about the voices he would so often hear...

I had always cast my eyes to the heavens, entranced by the Greek god’s and titans trapped within them embodied by the glowing plasma in the night sky but he, he claimed to have heard some of them. Sure, the three sea nymphs were but handmaidens of the goddess Persephone and hadn’t been tossed into the starry heavens but still – he heard the Sirens and could drown them out as Orpheus would with his songs or ignore them as Odysseus had done by binding himself to his ship’s mast. He had told me that he wasn’t supposed to talk about them, that his mother and father had told him that they weren’t real, but he seemed to think that they were. He told me about the time they had shoved him off of the swing, about the time they had forced him through a window littering his skin with severe cuts and scrapes. So I did what I always did. I looked up.

There were no stars visible, only a blue Spanish sky, but I was sure that they were there simply being drown out by the suns powerful rays. I told him about how Demeter had given the once handmaidens wings that they may search for Persophones who had been abducted by Hades, God of the Underworld. Upon their failure to do so, I told Fernando that the Sirens settled upon a beautiful island and would sit and sing most beautifully in a field of flowers. Sailors would often hear their luring songs and would sail their ships into the rocky shores of the island, meeting their fate by either the jagged rocks or by starvation at the feet of the Sirens after having forgotten everything. I told him that he could be hearing Sirens, his beautiful voices that lead him to hurt, but I told him about the trickery of Orpheaus and his lyre, the ingenuity of Odysseus.

> _"I had hardly finished telling everything to the men before we reached the island of the two Sirens, for the wind had been very favorable. Then all of a sudden it fell dead calm; there was not a breath of wind nor a ripple upon the water, so the men furled the sails and stowed them; then taking to their oars they whitened the water with the foam they raised in rowing. Meanwhile I look a large wheel of wax and cut it up small with my sword. Then I kneaded the wax in my strong hands till it became soft, which it soon did between the kneading and the rays of the sun-god son of Hyperion. Then I stopped the ears of all my men, and they bound me hands and feet to the mast as I stood upright on the crosspiece; but they went on rowing themselves. When we had got within earshot of the land, and the ship was going at a good rate, the Sirens saw that we were getting in shore and began with their singing._  
>    
>  _"'Come here,' they sang, 'renowned Ulysses, honor to the Achaean name, and listen to our two voices. No one ever sailed past us without staying to hear the enchanting sweetness of our song- and he who listens will go on his way not only charmed, but wiser, for we know all the ills that the gods laid upon the Argives and Trojans before Troy, and can tell you everything that is going to happen over the whole world.'_  
>    
>  _"They sang these words most musically, and as I longed to hear them further I made by frowning to my men that they should set me free; but they quickened their stroke and bound me with still stronger bonds till we had got out of hearing of the Sirens' voices. Then my men took the wax from their ears and unbound me.”_

_  
_ I told him further about what had happened to the Sirens after Odysseus had sailed beyond their island, I told him about what those beautiful voices had done when they found a man unwilling to succumb to their alluring prose - so distraught they were, I told him, that they hurled themselves into the sea and drowned, never to sing again. I'm still not sure if he had heard me, if he understood the correlation between the two - that the Sirens led many into harms way as his voices were doing to him - but he smiled.

Sergio wandered up to us eventually and asked the two of us if we had planned on joining them anytime soon. I remember telling him "No" because I hadn't but the laugh it got out of him told me that it wasn't the answer he was looking for. I didn't understand why Sergio laughed over seventy five percent of the time he did but I liked it, his laugh. After he had regained his composure, he explained that he wasn't really asking me a question but was extending an invitation to the two of us. Fernando had already run up to join the rest of the group of guys but I had no interest in playing with them. There were too many people over there so I told Sergio that I'd rather sit out and watch - it was what I was good at, observing. I didn't expect him to turn me into their referee though.

It was probably the most unregulated game of football ever played because I was too scared to blow my whistle, I didn't want to reprimand anyone for a 'bad tackle' or an 'illegal play'. I was bad with people as it was so correcting them and punishing them did not come easy for me. Sergio helped me, I think, by telling me when to blow my whistle... Though, in retrospect, it seems as if I was calling against one half of the group all of the time and I don't think I ever blew that thing against Sergio's half - cheeky devil.

The game [thankfully] ended after a mere thirty minutes: turns out Xavi had taken his cast off himself and needed to go back to the doctor, a boy named Gerrard's girlfriend wanted to meet up somewhere for something, and Iker needed to get Fernando back home in time to take some medicine. I was relieved and Sergio didn't seem to mind; he was talking to the one named Xabi about a boy named Steven, though Xabi didn't seem to be enjoying the direction of the conversation.

Eventually, we left the park after saying our goodbyes to Xabi and headed back towards the home of the Ramos'. Seville was a beautiful city, though, and I kept getting distracted by the beautiful buildings and the beautiful aromas filling the gaps between them so it took us a little while longer to get back to the house than it had taken us to get to the park. ("Come on Castor.") Sergio kept tugging me along until we came upon the gardens held within the Ramos' back yard. Sergio had grabbed me by the wrist as soon as he saw them and had quickly tugged me through a hole in the gates as he claimed he didn't want to have to deal with his parents. I didn't want to have to either so I simply shrugged and stopped resisting his pull into the gap.

I'm still not sure of how long we spent out there in the gazebo of their garden, we had been catching butterflies and plucking their wings, but the sun was going down when we heard Sergio's mother calling for us. I was never one to test parental figures so I went to head inside immediately but Sergio had a strong grip on my bicep that kept me rooted on the bench for the most part. I can remember the buzzing sounds of the cicadas as the sun fell and I can still remember catching sight of Sirius making its prominence known in the night sky. I could feel his breath warm and moist against my cheek and I can remember the shaken nature of his whisper. ("Cris. I'm scared.")

I wasn't sure of what he was afraid of, I mean he had never been afraid of the dark before. I thought that perhaps he feared getting in trouble by his parents or maybe he was scared of the cicadas - they were quite revolting insects. I felt his hand on my cheek and I can still remember the pressure he exerted on my cheek as he turned my face into his as I asked him what he was afraid of. ("Pollux is immortal, what do you have to fear.") I can remember the small smile on his face and I can still hear him assuring me that he was only afraid of ("losing Castor.") I remember the gap between us closing and I remember feeling my heart beating rapidly - which didn't make any sense as I wasn't partaking in any form of physical activity. I felt his lips against mine for only the second time in our lives but he held them there for much longer than he had the time before.

> _Sergio slowly worked his lips against Cristiano's as he gently moved his free hand along the Portuguese boy's thigh bringing his strokes to a halt before they rose too high. He wanted this to be perfect but he didn't want it to turn into anything more before Cristiano was ready. Sure, he had kissed Cris before but he had never kissed him like this. He needed for Cristiano to know that this was different, that this is what he wanted to do for the rest of his life. He cautiously slid his tongue against Cristiano's bottom lip, unsure of how Cristiano was taking this and finding himself too afraid to pull away to find out. Sergio could feel Cristiano's lips quiver against his own as the Portuguese boy parted his lips for him._
> 
> _"Sergio. Cristiano."_

The crunching of dead leaves or the smell of stale tobacco should have told us that he was coming but we had both been so caught up in one another... I had never been so embarrassed in my life and I don't think I had ever seen Sergio so angry. He kept trying to tell his dad to leave the two of us alone, to go back inside and to worry about his own disintegrating relationship... but Mr. Ramos was undeterred and hell bent on speaking with the two of us. I had always thought that I was awkward but that conversation, that was awkward.


	13. Cris: Cassiopeia

He sat down in between the two boys, shoving his son to one side as he did so while pushing Cris towards the other. He looked around his garden and released a small sigh of satisfaction; there were still some flowers that had as of yet to wilt, defiant against the harsh winter breezes, and there were still many butterflies floating around. Though… He furrowed the brows of his eyes together as he caught sight of the beautiful butterfly wings littered carelessly around his gazebo, all lying flat against the tiled floor in singularity without their insect bodies to bind them together. He kept his eyes set on those wings as he spoke, he became fixated on the beauty that had been plucked and destroyed. He didn’t understand how anyone could do such a thing to such a lovely and peaceful creature. A caring creature so harmless, harmed so carelessly.

-

I remember the sound of his voice the most, it was unlike any of the voices I had ever heard him use before. I didn’t understand that voice, but there was something about it that just drew me to him, to that voice. He asked Sergio if it was his fault for not being present enough for him, though that look in his eye... I know that look now, though I didn’t know it then: he knew that his son was curious about what it’d be like to be with another boy – to be with me. I think I remember it so well because of how different it was than that of Luis’ when he had first heard of Sergio and me holding hands or the time [when we were six] Helen had caught him sneaking in. No, there was something about that voice I had never…but I wanted that voice to utter those things to me, for me and only me.

Sergio didn’t seem to have the same feeling for that voice that I did, he seemed angry at it so I felt myself suddenly getting angry at it. Sergio was yelling at him, telling him to go inside and leave him alone… So I stood up and went to go inside, only to feel a tug against my bicep from his father assuring me that it was just a figure of speech, that Sergio didn’t want to really be ‘alone’, just without him. I understood the concept of figurative language so I shrugged and placed myself back down on the bench as a spectator, as usual.

I didn’t understand why Sergio’s father wasn’t getting angry back, why he wasn’t silencing Sergio’s disrespect. I didn’t understand people but for the first time, I wanted to. I wanted to understand this father and son, I wanted to understand their relationship, I wanted their relationship. For the longest time, until that moment, I had always disliked society as whole – out of envy, of course. I mean, most 'members of society' can laugh at a joke without having it explained to them countless times. Most 'members of society' can cry and will know exactly what was said to have triggered such a reaction and most members of society can get involved in a relationship and will know what is expected of them, will know when to react or sit back. I’ve always cast these people 'over the rainbow' in a sense, like in the Wizard of Oz, living their life in full color, going through it all the way it was intended to be experienced – laughing, crying, and loving. Or even screaming, fighting, and hating. Everybody else lived in color while I, I've always been stuck in black and white, on the side of the rainbow where there is no actual rainbow of vivid technicolor. I remember watching as Sergio yelled until his face flushed and I remember the placidity on his father’s face – I didn’t understand it but it wasn’t my black and white so I guess I was never supposed to. Sergio’s father seemed to understand why Sergio was behaving in such a way and sat idly by until he finished – it was beautiful and vibrant... and I wanted that, even if I didn't understand it.

Sergio finished screaming and shouting – eventually – and tried, once again, to dismiss his father but to no avail. His father had told him that he was sorry for not being there for him and that he was sorry that Sergio had to go through all of his changes alone. I had been beyond confused at the time, I didn’t know why Sergio’s father was the one apologizing when Sergio was the one who had seemed to blow his top. I remember studying Sergio, too, searching for the change his father spoke of but I came up empty handed. I remember hearing the older Ramos assuring his son that he was there for him if he needed to talk about anything but one of the things I can vividly recall was the way that he had told Sergio that he loved him. It was… amazing but it had been accompanied with hurt as the memory of ripped teddy bears flooded back to me. 

I had been stuck on them, those words and all that they had meant - wanted, cared for - and all they would never mean for me, when he had turned his attention on to me. He just looked at me as if he expected me to say something but I didn’t know what it was that I was supposed to tell him. I had already forgotten that voice from [what seemed to be] so long before and I was scared of what he would do to me if I told him the truth – that it was okay if Sergio touched me, that I liked being kissed by Sergio. No, I could still hear Luis voice in my mind yelling at me as he called me a ‘little faggot’ and, in that moment, I could feel the pain that had remained after that lesson. No, ‘faggots’ weren’t okay according to Luis so there was no way that this man could be okay with them – at least that’s what I had thought _._ The man may have been okay with Sergio being gay but, in my mind, Sergio was his son – he’d accept him [eventually] no matter what. I am but an orphan who has no parents, however, the son of no one. I could feel his eyes on me but I was never any good at eye contact so I did my best to look anywhere but into his eyes. I tried to look up but the roof of the gazebo prevented me from finding my stars so, for once, I looked down. I remember reaching down to pick up a butterfly wing and its counterpart as soon as I had spotted it with my eyes and I can recall thoughtlessly handing it over to Sergio’s father saying “Andromeda’s beauty, huh?”.

He didn’t understand what I meant, as most people didn’t, but Sergio did – as he always had – and assured his father that Andromeda was probably the name of a constellation. I remember watching him rub his fingers over the wings as gently as the breeze was pulling at the leaves on the trees that evening. So I told him the myth of the Chained Lady whose mother, Cassiopeia, bragged that her daughter was more beautiful than the sea nymph, Nereids, who had been blessed by Poseidon with incredible beauty. I told Sergio’s father of the nymph’s outrage and of their pleas to Poseidon and of Poseidon’s command to the sea monster, Cetus, in which he told him to attack Ethiopia. Sergio’s father seemed to be listening intently so I continued, though if he wasn’t listening I would’ve probably continued anyway. I told him about how Andromeda's father panicked and was told by an oracle that the only way to save his kingdom was to sacrifice his daughter to the sea monster. I told him about how Andromeda was chained to a rock by the sea but was quickly saved by Perseus, who had used the severed head of Medusa to turn the monster into stone. As I finished speaking, I remember looking out, just as Almach became visible beneath the gazebo roof. 

I remember the softness in his voice, that same voice I had heard from him earlier as he reflected on the story of Andromeda and her mother. I remember looking over and catching sight of a single tear rolling down his cheek as he said something about ‘one careless thing [doing] so much harm’ just before he looked away from all of the butterfly wings. 

-

A tear came to his eye at the thought and he couldn’t keep his attention off of his son any longer. He hadn’t even realized how much he had grown, it seemed as if had only been yesterday that he had first caught Sergio digging through his satchel, pulling out his stethoscope along with all of his other doctoring equipment claiming to be the doctor of the family. The memory brought a warm, small smile to his face but he couldn’t see beyond the beautiful, young man sitting in front of him: he was hurt, this older Sergio – it was written all over his eyes – he was afraid and struggling with dealing with all of the things these last few years had thrown at him. His son had matured quickly and he felt himself acknowledge within his heart that he and his wife were responsible for depriving this boy of the beautiful childhood he deserved. He felt himself come to grips with that fact that their incessant bickering over the past eleven years had, in fact, had an effect on their child and now, he was losing this boy - his boy - as a result. He simply shook his head just before letting his eyes fall back down on the beautiful wings of the butterflies. How could anyone do such a thing to such a lovely and peaceful creature? A caring creature so harmless, harmed so carelessly.


	14. Cris: The Laws of Attraction

After sitting with his father for a few moments of silence (I suppose they were thinking while I was staring up at the stars, I didn’t really care) Sergio and I followed him into the house where we were quickly greeted by the scorn of his mother. It took me a while to figure out why she had her hands on her hips but by the time she was finished I was simply convinced that she had been possessed by one of Mother Claudia’s demons throughout the duration of the outburst. She had gone red faced in her tantrum as she yelled at the two Ramos men, lecturing them on how it was men who were supposed to be waiting on women and not the other way around. She made some snide remark about Sergio’s father that made Sergio clench his fist and tighten his jaw before Mr. Ramos intervened and sent us up to our respective rooms to get ready for dinner. As we climbed up the stairs, I remember hearing him tell her that he needed to talk to her about the divorce just before I was yanked into Sergio’s room by the sleeve of my shirt.

His tears were staining his cheeks but I didn’t even understand why they were there; his mother had yelled at both himself and his father so I couldn’t comprehend why he was taking it so personally. I mean, she had called his father “an unreliable sack of shit” who “is not worth the gum on the bottom of her shoe” but it’s not like she called him all of that… Whatever the case, he was upset and I was confused so everything seemed to be quite normal, though certainly not ideal. He walked beyond me and I can remember suddenly feeling his hand within mine as the door clicked to a close, the sound quickly followed by the turning of its lock. I remember looking out of his window and finding Antares rising directly in front of me, the rest of the Scorpius constellation surely surrounding it in the night sky. For once, though, I wasn’t interested in seeing what other stars decided to illuminate the night sky, why should I have been when I had my very own ‘Pollux’ behind me, so close that I can vividly recall his warm breath gracing my neck.

I still feel a rise within me when I think about that moment, the hairs on my arms still stand up and I still feel myself becoming dizzy within each passing of the memory. His body pressing up behind mine and one of his arms stretched out across my chest as the other lightly guided his hand over ridges of my lower abdomen; I usually didn’t like to be touched but I didn’t mind Sergio touching me, I actually wanted him to touch me some more. I remember feeling the point of his chin on my shoulder and I remember the sigh that preceded his moist lips against my neck. It was an amazing feeling physically speaking but a very baffling one in the mental and emotional aspects of it. I didn’t know why he was kissing my neck, he was just upset moments ago and it’s not like I had said anything to pull him out of that, but for some reason I never wanted him to stop. My body had started going through a lot of involuntary movements after that, I felt faint and flushed and I nearly collapsed – I’m sure I would have had I not been pushed back onto the bed – ‘strange delicious torture’ as Sergio had called it the times after. I remember feeling him against my thigh and the unsteadiness in his breath but then he pulled away, forgetting that he had locked his door and falsely sensing that his parents would be coming up to check on him at any moment.

He pressed his ear against the wall, probably listening for his parents, as I pulled myself back together and tried to figure out what had just happened, what had happened out in the gazebo. It’s not that I didn’t know anything about attraction, I knew what the laws of attraction were and understood the concept of the theory, but it didn’t seem applicable. I may be emotionally impaired, so to speak, but even I could acknowledge and accept that Sergio and I are seemingly from different planets. We actually had nothing in common: he was loud and I was not, he was confident and I was not, my eyes pointed towards the sky while his sights were always set on what was in front of him, he had parents and I was orphaned, he had everything handed to him and I had nothing, he was charismatic and I was awkward, I was smart and he was… Look, it just didn’t make any sense.

> _Sergio glanced over his shoulder, turning away from the wall with a sigh of relief, and found exactly what he had expected – Cristiano deep in thought. He knew that the Portuguese boy was intent on trying to understand everything in front of him but sometimes, sometimes Sergio just wished Cristiano would stop thinking for a minute and just – go with how he feels? No he’d have no idea of what he’d be feeling and probably wouldn’t know how to properly express himself._

I remember hearing him sigh and I can still hear him drumming his fingers against his denim covered legs. He sighed again and then I could feel his eyes on me, seeming to burn into the side of my cheeks. In retrospect, maybe he was waiting on me to say something but who can really be sure? I was a bit apprehensive of looking at him in the eyes as it was as I was still unsure of what was happening between us, had happened, so I figured staring at the wall was a decent enough response. Upset people don’t often stare at walls do they? Sergio apologized to me for touching me but I was quick to assure him that it was okay (maybe it was too quick?). I wasn’t even thinking when I told him I didn’t mind being touched by him – for once, I didn’t think before I spoke. He smiled (though I couldn’t tell you why) as my admittance reached his ears and closed the distance between us until he was sitting with his thigh pressed up against mine. He informed me that he had been wanting to do that for some time, touch me as he did. Looking back, I get the notion that I should’ve felt deeply embarrassed when I replied, telling him that we hold hands and bump elbows all the time ‘so what’s the difference’, but I didn’t get that impression from him. I never did get the feeling that I said the wrong thing around him. He simply smiled at me.

> _He rubbed nervously at the back of his own neck, trying to figure out the best way to explain something of this nature to Cristiano. He was only fifteen and had been casting himself in doubt over the past few weeks about doing this, under the impression that he, himself, may even still be too young to understand this. He couldn’t be too young for it, not for what he was feeling. It was too real and too powerful and probably the scariest thing he had ever encountered yet he needed more of it. Understanding it, he had his whole life ahead of him for that so he decided to just go for it. Now or never. Unfortunately, going for now seemed to be hurting him a bit. To know that Cristiano may never understand this as it’s not a literal and physical thing, to know that the boy across from him may be returning his actions but may never return the sentiments behind them. He had thought about all of that before and had accepted it easily in theory but as it materialized before him he could feel his heart swell. He would never be able to deliver on Cristiano's poetic reality of constant, unending euphoria ('love' as described by the Portuguese boy) but within that moment it didn't matter. He'd try anyway and whether or not Cristiano could ever or would ever be able to appreciate what he was trying to share with him wouldn't change the way he felt about him. So what the hell...?_

He bit his lip before he spoke again – for once he was thinking before he spoke – and asked me why it was that I am so drawn to the stars, why my eyes are always up. Since the first time Alex had asked me about my infatuation with them, it had become something that I would often think long and hard about; eventually, I came to the conclusion that I like them because they are what they are yet they're not. You look up and there they are, you know what they are (thank you science), yet you still feel so inclined to believe that there’s so much more to them than their physicality. Most members of society look up and close their eyes, knowing that these are large, gaseous balls of plasma, and still feel as if there’s something special held deep within their cores to the extent that they thrust their wishes and expectations upon them. Others look up and see a story. The very thing I had once despised about them became what pulled me closer and into them, their gravity. I wanted that – expectations, hope, to be viewed as 'something' with substance... I told Sergio as much and was met with his lips against mine and his whispers informing me that I already am that to him. That when he looked at me, he was seeing his stars.

A light knock on the door broke us apart but those few moments had left us both gasping for air. We helped one another straighten ourselves out before he turned the lock and pulled the door open just enough to where I could make out his mother standing on the other side of it, her bleeding mascara painting her cheeks a charcoal gray, eyeliner faded to a light blue. She asked if she could speak with him and I can still hear that sigh as his shoulders rose to fall. She sat next to me on the bed (patting my head as if I were a dog) and started speaking immediately. It was a brief conversation, a firm one; one in which she told Sergio that he needed to stop blaming them for his problems, in which she told him that he was mature enough to handle his own issues and didn’t need to go crying to his father every time they said something to upset him, in which she told Sergio that what went on between herself and his father had nothing to do with him and that he needed to stop taking the divorce so personally.

Now, I never understood the relationship between parents and their children but the look on Sergio’s face taught me at least one thing... Sergio and I were more alike than I had thought – we were both ripped teddy bears – the only difference being that I had been torn before I had even made it into this world, he was torn because of this world, because of these people. 


	15. Iker: Let's Compare Scars

"My bedroom window at my parents house is actually still cracked from the pebbles he had thrown at it that night; things like that never worked out like they did in the movies - nothing ever does. I wasn’t sure of what had happened that night, why Sergio was standing outside of my window clad in only his pajamas, but it didn’t matter. It never mattered when it came to Sergio. We were friends and had always been there for one another, no questions asked. That night was no different so I shoved away any signs of my tiredness to make as much space as possible for the concern that had started building within me. I had thought about going out the front door, but the thought was a brief one as I knew it wasn't an option since Unai had snuck out and... My window was the next best option. Climbing out windows from the second story of your house is never as easy as the movies make it seem and climbing down those vine covered fences...? Impossible. My mother had insisted that she had 'needed’ them but, if you ask me, she simply 'needed' to create another choking hazard or disguised death trap. I was nearing the ground when I felt one of the vines snap loose and suddenly, I was no longer looking down at Sergio, rather I was looking up at him.

> _“I’m not sure if there are actually stars in the sky or if I’m just seeing them as a result of a possible concussion,” Iker groaned as the pain surging through his back finally started to subside._

I could hear Sergio chuckling from above me and could make out his bright grin peeking out from behind the shadows of my mother's elm tree. I watched as he glanced up towards the heavens, furrowing his brow, and listened as he formed some sort of question that extended beyond his usual range of thought before he kicked me in the ribs for saying as much. He had changed so much since I had last saw him, he had definitely grown and matured a bit. I had noticed the change in Sergio over this past summer almost instantly, I just couldn't put my finger on the cause, that is, until I was finally introduced to Cristiano. I made a joke about Sergio's observations of the stars being a bit advanced for him and implicated that his feelings were in the same league - a bit too advanced - as I found my feet. Something told me that it was those "advanced feelings" that had brought him to my front yard that night. 

As soon as I had dodged every acorn he threw at me, we made our way over to the garage, grabbing one of my footballs out of the pile of balls within it, and had started to make our way down the street, towards the park. It didn't take long for Sergio to start opening up to me. I listened as he started talking about his mother and what she had told him that very evening. It was one of the most ludicrous things I had ever heard to be honest, a divorce and the consequences of one having nothing to do with the child, but I kept my opinions to myself. Sergio didn’t come to me when he needed answers, he never needed nor wanted answers from anyone other than himself, he simply came to me when he was tired: when he was tired of lashing out against his father, when he grew tired of being himself... That’s when Sergio came to me.

He told me about his father catching him kissing Cristiano in the gazebo... I listened as he told me about what he had done with Cris behind a locked door and I could hear the guilt and the remorse within his voice as he told me, I could almost hear regret, but I could hear the want louder than any and all of that. I could hear the conflict resounding from within himself, the fear of being with somebody like Cristiano colliding with the fear of being without him. Above all else though, I could hear that he was tired of being afraid. That's when Sergio came to me. 

I don’t know what had compelled me to do it, perhaps it was Sergio’s unvoiced admission of being afraid or perhaps it was the way those stars of Cristiano’s had lined up that night over the park, but I wanted to show him that it was okay to be afraid sometimes…

> _The kiss was short, composed of one part passion and one part confused submission, but it was enough to get Sergio’s attention. Enough to pull him out of his thoughts and enough to pump new, equally confusing ones into his mind. He felt the hands of the elder boy on his cheeks but couldn’t bring himself to meet the curious gaze of those dark brown eyes._

I know that kissing him was the wrong thing to do, I knew that my actions would only confuse him further (unnecessarily, at that) but, I swear to you, that is not why I kissed him. I needed him to know that I admired him for the person he was, I needed him to know that he had touched the lives of so many including my own, I needed him to know that he was entitled to be as happy as he set out to be. I was frustrated and wanted nothing more than for him to feel the appreciation he deserved, the appreciation I was sure Cristiano would convey if he only knew how, the appreciation I was sure Fernando felt for him. If I could have taken it back, I would have. I would have done anything to erase that look of confusion on his face, anything to erase that bewildered expression on Cristiano’s as he suddenly appeared behind Sergio.

I don’t remember hearing Sergio say anything to Cristiano before he turned and walked off towards the plazas but I can clearly remember the expression on both of their faces and it killed me on the inside. I just wanted him to know that I loved and appreciated him as a person, as a friend… I didn't want to ruin what he had going on with Cristiano. That was something special, something that only comes around once in a lifetime, but just like that I did. I ruined it for him, for them.

I knew Sergio, better than anyone else in the world probably, but even I didn’t know where he ran off to that evening.

-

I tried explaining it to Cris, tried to tell him that I only meant the kiss as a friend, but I only received a lost expression in return before I found myself staring at the backside of him. I knew Cristiano was no idiot, that he knew and understood the significance and meaning behind a kiss; the ‘why’s’ behind kissing were what confused him and that's what I was desperately trying to explain to his disappearing form. I had heard enough about Cristiano’s life to know what he had gone through, was going through, and I didn’t want to be, never wanted to be another person to crush him.

Eventually, I decided to go after him in the event that he was literally lost and didn’t know how to get back to the Ramos’ house and found him swaying back and forth on the swings on the opposite end of the park. His expression had reverted to it’s usual blanken state and his eyes had returned to where I had only ever seen them (up until a few moments ago) - up. It didn't matter where he was looking, I simply wanted him to hear me out. I found myself falling into the seat of the swing beside him and pressed my feet to the ground, forcing myself up and succumbing to gravity shortly after. I begged for his forgiveness in a whisper, told him that I didn't mean anything by it, at least not in the manner that kissing meant between the two of them. The air was cool and I could feel myself shaking, though I feel as if my body was responding more to the situation than the environment. I tried to find Cristiano's eyes through my heated breath but found his head still tilted upwards towards the heavens. 

> _“He cares for you, a lot, and would never…”_
> 
> _“Sergio talked about you a lot back home, in Portugal.” Cristiano murmured as a small smile played on his lips. “I know how much you two mean to one another. I mean I don’t know but… I get it, I think. That’s Lyra.” Cristiano stated a matter of factly, pointing towards the bright star, Vega and to the harp surrounding it, “the Harp.”_
> 
> _Iker nodded and glanced up in the general area Cristiano was pointing towards, surprising himself when he actually found the lopsided square. “Oh shit, I see it. I usually never see them, they usually just look like a cluster of dots up there.” Iker chuckled as he gave Cristiano a sideways look. “Sergio tells me that you think there’s more to them than that.”_
> 
> _“There is but there isn’t,” Cristiano smiled shyly as he peeled his eyes from the sky and looked at Iker for the first time, he was looking into his eyes and not beyond him for the first time. He felt a warm sense of familiarity encompassing his chest as he suddenly felt at ease around the older boy. “Do you look after Fernando the way Sergio looks after me?” Cristiano suddenly asked. “If you do, you don’t have to worry about him. He’s not as broken as you think he is. Actually, he's probably a lot stronger than either you or Sergio combined - mentally, that is. He's been tested.”_
> 
> _Iker smiled to himself as he slowly began to remember the story of Lyra, he was in AP English and a reading on Greek Mythology had been a mandatory part of the course. Had he enjoyed the mythology as much as Cristiano? Of course not but some things just kind of stick with you. “I’ll have to remember that as long as you promise not to get bitten by any snakes. I don’t know where any of us would be without Sergio.”_

I’m not sure how we ended up talking about my brother, I never talk about my brother with anyone - not even Sergio."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Lyra 'The Harp' is actually visible on a mid-summer night and not in the winter time.


	16. Bosco: A Little Prayer For You

"I didn’t like leaving my family in the fashion that I had, in the way that I did... I left a piece of myself in Brazil that day. More than that even, I left my son and the love of my life behind but I knew that, no matter how many times I looked over my shoulder and back towards the country of my birth, there would always be a gap there, there would always be one piece of my soul that wasn’t there that should be there. I wanted nothing more than for the image over my shoulder to be whole again, for my family to be whole and complete. I knew it would come at a price, at the cost of a few tears and a few unanswered questions; I was never one who found warmth in a pair of eyes filled to the brim with tears... No, that’s not why I left; I didn’t need for my family to appreciate me, to miss me when I was gone - I knew they would - andI didn’t need any form of validation. No, I left because I knew there was someone who belonged there that wasn’t, I knew that there needed to be a person there who wasn’t. I knew that he needed to be where he belonged, with his family. That is why I left. I know it sounds selfish at first, that I left because I couldn’t stand being a part of an incomplete family, fathering a picture of perfection that I knew was actually missing an important piece... I swear to you, though, that it was only a part of the reason I climbed on to that plane with my suitcases packed.

While Simone may have told you that I did it in spite of her, that it was a completely selfish act, I feel you must know that I did it for Ricky. And for his brother. I would be the first to admit that I was a bit harsh on Ricky for those four years: I did my best to teach him the value of a hard day’s work, the value of sweat and the pride of having blisters on his hands, but, in truth, I would have given him, either of them, the moon if they had asked for it. I would have found a way to place the sun in the palms of their hands, a way to capture the stars in a mason jar if it would have made them happy. There’s nothing that compares to the smile on a child’s face; it’s more than a look of satisfaction, it’s a way of telling you ‘you heard me, Dad. No matter how small I may feel, I know my voice is big enough for someone to hear’. Yes, if they had named it, it would have been given them... but one voice never reached my ears, ones desires were never made known to me because of the pride of one family.

Two days before his fourth birthday, Simone sent me up to Ricky’s room to make sure he was saying his prayers ‘properly’. I didn’t know what she meant by ‘proper’, I don’t even think God knows what she meant, but when your wife tells you to do something - you do it. That’s when everything changed, when something just snapped inside of me. I will never forget it: seeing Ricky kneeling at his bedside, hair a mess, hands pressed together, eyes closed tightly. He said “God” in the same tone of voice I’m speaking to you in, so casual as if He were one of us. “God”, he said, “I don’t like talking to you. You scare me sometimes but Mommy and Daddy say that you do cool things, too. You know what I think is cool, God? Brothers. Brothers are cool. I think I’d like one. Or is that not your job? Am I supposed to ask that very bright star in the sky for one? I think I’ll do that, too. Just in case.” ...and I couldn’t take it. I can barely take the memory now.

Part of me wanted nothing more than to just walk right in there, to get on his level, to tell him that he already had a brother, a brother who may look just like him, talk just like him. I wanted to tell him what his grandmother had made his mother do, I wanted to tell him what it had done to us, to his mother and myself, over the past four years. I couldn’t, though. Fortunately, I found myself restrained by the knowledge that doing that could destroy him and all that he knew. His relationship with his mother and the trust it was built upon would have been questioned, his trust in me... He was only four years old and I couldn’t, I couldn't throw that kind of weight on his shoulders. I couldn't…his mind was so impressionable. At the same time, I didn’t feel as if I could lie to him any longer. So I decided right then and there, that if it was the last thing I did, I would give him his brother back.

I didn’t just take off as Simone had told all of her friends, I didn’t just leave without notice as her mother accused me of. I actually spoke with her about it, attempted to at the very least, even telling her about Ricky’s prayers. To her, though, Ricky’s prayers, the prayers of any child, were nothing but vocalizations of an active imagination; they never meant much to her. (‘He’s just at that age. He’d probably be just as content with a dog. Give it a week, he’ll get over it.’) I never believed that though, because it had been four years and I still wasn't over it, still wasn't over the thought of that face and those tiny little hands. I never believed that the dreams and wishes of a child were empty. No, no I believe that they are glimpses into the soul of a child. That’s why I left: to fill that emptiness I know he felt in his soul. I left for him...

Looking back, sometimes I think that he knew that he already had a brother. Somewhere..."


	17. Cris: Heartbeats

> _"He was so scared but so was I. He was confused and I... I was too late. He was gone by the time I reacted."_

Instead of finding words to help comfort Iker, I settled for finding the stars and listened quietly as Iker repetitiously whispered that he should have done something, that it was his responsibility to protect his little brother and that he had failed. Nothing I could have said would have helped him, nothing I could have said would have made anything right, so that's exactly what I said - nothing. I didn’t understand what he was talking about to begin with so I could offer him no form solace without the presence of ignorance. Someone holding themselves accountable for the actions of another seemed odd enough to me and mourning over the mistake of another as if it were your very own error...? It was an incredible yet confusing concept, it was as beautiful as it was twisted. It reminded me of the times when Alex had told me that he "knew what I was feeling" but, rather than it being the physical form of feeling I had thought it to be as a child, I discovered it to be that confusing emotional form of feeling and knowing - understanding. I had looked at Iker for a few moments and had wondered if he could do what he had done with his brother - empathize - with me. If he could tell me what I was feeling within that moment - and then explain it to me so that I may know. After a few moments, I decided against it, ruled it as impossible, and refound my stars.

Iker would look at me occasionally, as if there was something he wanted me to say to him, as if he were expecting some sort of reaction from me but I... I just didn’t know what it was he could possibly want from me so I kept my gaze on the stars; I mean, at least I could understand them. To this day, I still don’t know what it is that I was supposed to say or what I was supposed to do within that moment; he had lost someone but at least he had someone to lose. Besides, I never could understand what was so upsetting about death, what was so dark and evil about the thought of a person dying. It’s the life cycle - we live and we die, some pass sooner than others while some don't pass soon enough. It’s not surprising to me when someone dies, it's not heartbreaking, it's not sad, it’s expected. At the same time, of course, I knew better than to tell him such a thing while he was 'suffering'. I had already made that mistake when Pepe had lost one of his cousins in a car accident and had been corrected by Sergio as he had placed fresh ice over my blackened eye. Apparently, there’s enough a person doesn’t understand when ‘tragedies' like that happen so closely to them and there isn’t much room on that list of 'incomprehensible things' for my name.

Part of me wanted to say something. I wanted to let him know that I had heard him but that I didn't know how to respond. At the same time, I knew that I would make him feel guilty if I told him that he had confused me so I settled for nothing. As my eyes had been set on the stars, though, Iker’s gaze had been on me; I could see him out of the corner of my eye and flinched as he made a movement towards me. I found out later on in the evening that he had already realized that he was speaking on a matter that was completely foreign to me, something I couldn’t understand and that he already knew that I was confused without the exchange of any form of communication between the two of us. I'm not sure what it is about the two of them, Iker and Sergio, but they both seemed to have a sixth sense in those regards and I often found myself being caught out by the two of them throughout my teenage years. Fortunately, they never criticized me for it, they simply put whatever complexity was before me (usually an emotion) into a context I could easily understand.

I could feel his eyes on me for quite some time though I soon felt something else of his pressing up against my skin. I can still remember the feeling of his sweaty palm, warm against the cold skin of my cheeks, and I can still see Canis Major disappearing from my sights as I was founded by the dark eyes of Iker by way of the moonlight. I was too scared to meet his gaze at first, the fear of potentially discovering condemnation or worse, pity, within those dark orbs consumed me. Fortunately, when I did muster up the courage to look at him, our eyes didn’t meet for long and I found no traces of malice within them during that short period of time; I soon felt the soft fabric of his shirt against my other cheek, the rhythmic beating of his heart within my eardrums, and realized that he didn't want to stare and glare at me, the broken me I kept locked away inside away from anyone and everyone not named Sergio. No, instead he asked me if I could hear it before he asked me what I thought it was. At the time, it was such a stupid question to me because only a moron didn’t know what a heart was; then again, I recognized that there were still people who wished on stars...

I slowly answered him, though I'm sure he could sense the confusion in my voice as I continued listening to his heart pound against his chest; he didn't seem to have any murmurs or any irregularities. I told him that all I could hear was a muscular organ that was responsible for pumping blood throughout one's blood vessels as if he were an eight year old child, explaining slowly that it used rhythmic contractions to do so. I told him that it was called a heart and informed him that, despite popular belief, it looked like a pear. I didn't know why he wanted to know what it was and I certainly didn't want to question his educational background, so as to not come off as condescending, but the questions were certainly there; they were simply left as un-vocalized thoughts. Fortunately, he laughed and explained that he already knew all of that, leaving me to wonder why he had asked in the first place then, and pressed his questioning further: now asking me why the heart contracted as it did, what was behind a heartbeat.

After a moment of chewing on my bottom lip and wondering if he was being serious, I started to ramble on and on about the sinoatrial node, how the heart produced electricity, and the atrioventricular node. Of course, I had mentioned the atrioventricular bundle, bundle branches, and Purkinje fibers while trying to explain how the systems cooperated together to form a perfect, steady heartbeat. I can't be sure of how long I went on for but I'm certain Iker let me go on for quite a while... I’m the moron, it seems. Apparently, that is not how a heartbeat works. Iker had simply chuckled as I rattled off and had soon placed a hand over my mouth, smiling at me as he did so. Nothing about what I had said was humorous, as a matter of fact it was science and not comedy, but he had laughed and smiled about it anyway. At first, I didn’t understand why he had asked me such a question if he didn’t want to hear the answer but I knew that he was Sergio’s friend and that meant he was probably building up to something. So, I watched as he smiled and collected his thoughts; there was something comforting about his smile rather than condescending, I’m used to the latter, and I found it laced with appreciation rather than pity, infatuation rather than judgement. I liked that smile though I didn't understand a thing about it.

It took him a moment but, eventually, I found myself listening intently as he ‘pitched a theory’ to me and offered up the idea that the sinoatrial node, as well as its pacemaker cells, could exist outside of our body and still bear the same effect on our internal organ - the heart - in the form of another person creating that essential electricity.

> _"We all have that one person who acts as our pacemaker cells within our sinoatrial node, Cris. Maybe, if we’re lucky, we have two people who we can liken to our pacemaker cells but we all have that one. They will depolarize and they will repolarize, rapidly adjusting themselves until they are able to spark that ‘electrical’ reaction within you… Hell, it’s their sole purpose in life, it’s what they were made to do. They were put here to create that electricity to make your heart beat, for the sound of your heart pounding within your chest - sometimes it will beat erratically, sometimes it will beat slowly, often times numbly, but they are the reason that it will always beat, without a shadow of a doubt, throughout the entirety of your lifetime. And you let them, you have to because your very life depends on it, you depend on them."_

I listened quietly as he explained that every person within the universe, myself included, are electrically polarized pacemaker cells, depolarizing and repolarizing for someone else, rapidly adjusting our charges for that one person who needs us as much as we may need them, sparking that essential chain reaction of electricity within that one person. I listened as he informed me that he had lost his pacemaker cells when he lost his brother, that his heart had started beating a little differently, a little slower since... which made absolutely no sense to me. I mean, it was still beating pretty normally; I heard it and I knew he could feel it which could only mean that there were still pacemaker cells within his sinoatrial node, whether he recognized them for who they were was on him, but there was someone in there 'bouncing around' and forming electricity. I simply placed my hand over his heart and scrunched my face because, in spite of what he was saying, there were still little 'pacemaker' cells in there sending out sparks...

> _"...Or maybe I'm just holding on to that final sunset before there was all of this darkness? Maybe that's what's kept me going on this long and what's been keeping my heart beating all this time. The memories. You know, when you are so used to something being there that you sometimes find yourself forgetting that it's not there anymore? One day that will all fade, though, the memory of that final sunset and I'll..."_
> 
> _"...find yourself finally waiting to embrace the next sunrise because you can sense it on the horizon." Cristiano smirked as he twisted the chain links of his swing and turned towards Iker, kicking the knee caps of the other boy as he watched a smile start to form on the Spaniard's face as he, too, caught a glimpse of the gold now forming on the horizon. "Or maybe your heart's not beating for you to begin with; maybe it never was. Maybe it's still beating to ensure that you can act as the sinoatrial node for someone else's heart."_

I feel overwhelmed with a strange warmth every time I reflect on that night; I learned everything I ever needed to know - about people, about life, about empathy - that night from something I had always had within me. I had just never (properly) understood how it worked until I met Iker; I had always thought that science made people but I learned that night that it was the other way around, that people made science. A person was behind every heartbeat just as a person was behind every story found within the stars. A person makes you what you are - alive, a person made the stars more than what they were with their stories, and a person could make me so much more than what I was...


	18. Cris: The Eye

After I felt as if I had a firm grip on pacemaker cells, or people for that matter, Iker and I spoke about the stars for a little while longer, until they seemed to fade into the orange hues that had began to stem out from the horizon. While I was disappointed to see their light growing dimmer and succumbing to that of the closer star, I had never really watched a sunrise until that morning, sitting on the swings with Iker… It was oddly fascinating, watching that ball of fire rise over the surface of the earth within that moment. Sometimes, I feel as if I was able to catch my first glimpse of normalcy that morning because, as the sun climbed higher and higher in the orange and gold sky, I saw more than just a luminous sphere of plasma being held together by it’s own gravity; I think I saw what other people could see. I could see where someone would find the promise of a brand new day within the outstretched rays of the sun and I could feel the warmth that they had carried within them on more than my skin, kissing my cold cheek and chasing away the cold of night. It was just a glimpse, just a moment, but I held on to that for the rest of my life because, for the first time, within that brief moment, everything made sense to me.

I could feel Iker’s eyes on me, though I’m not sure of how long he had been watching me watch the sun rise. I didn’t try to meet his gaze until the last flecks of gold faded away, leaving the orange to linger a while longer, but when I did I could see little flickers of light in them. He only smiled before I saw him slide off of the swing and find his feet; he offered me his hand as I did the same, of which I declined, and assured me that Sergio had probably returned home already. We walked towards the Ramos' home together and I listened as Iker kept repeating that he and Sergio were just friends, reminding me that their kiss didn’t mean anything beyond friendship, and that he didn’t want to ruin what was between the two of us, Sergio and myself. I was confused of course, so I asked him if there was something going on between myself and Sergio while I asked him what he supposed it was.

Iker looked just as confused as I was for a moment but that moment passed and took the confusion that had been on his face with it. We stopped walking the very instant I had posed my question so we just stood there, in the middle of the streets of Seville, staring at one another. He asked me what Sergio had told me so I informed him that Sergio had referred to me as “his stars” but that I hadn’t been too sure of what he had meant by it as, according to Iker's philosophy, each star had a different meaning to different people, there was no set definition about them - another thing I grew to admire about them after that night. Iker didn’t answer me for a long while, he just stared at me in the same manner I had stared at the sunset in, so I asked him again what Sergio had meant by it and what he had meant when he implied that there was something going on between myself and Sergio. He smiled eventually and poked one of his fingers into my chest, pressing firmly against my sternum as his grin spread and his dimples formed on his cheeks. I was about to protest and ask him why he touched me when he told me that I was Sergio’s sinoatrial node, that I was the reason Sergio was able to live, and that I was the person behind every one of his heartbeats. It took me a moment to recall our conversation from earlier in the morning but as I did, I felt overwhelmed by one of the most powerful feelings I had ever felt. I didn’t need to know what it was called, I didn’t care, I just knew I wanted to feel it for the rest of my life. I was Sergio’s stars, his sinoatrial node… He saw me for more than broken, more than the rips and straying cotton; he, he… (“He loves you, Cris.”)

I don’t think I’ve ever experienced an anger like that since that day, the one I had felt when Iker told me that Sergio loved me. I had always felt as if Sergio had always deserved the best, that he deserved more than I could ever give him; I was only fifteen but I knew my limitations and I accepted them but Sergio, Sergio didn’t need to accept anything. No one was supposed to love me - I was a burden and to expect anyone to ever… for me… was selfish. I didn’t know how to tell Iker what I was feeling, didn’t know how to show him what was going on inside of me. I was so scared and so afraid… so I ran. The air was still cool but the sun was warm and the road ahead of me seemed endless; I didn't know where I was running to or who I was running towards but it just, it just felt like the right thing to do.

I don’t even know how long I ran for, my face was covered with dirt and sweat and my heart was pounding harshly against my chest, but I know I would’ve ran for much longer had it not been for those arms. They felt familiar as they wrapped around my body and I can remember part of me feeling relieved that they were there - grateful for the familiarity, yet so afraid of the sudden differences. The smell around us was familiar as was the stinging of tears forming in my eyes. The soft voice whispering soothing things into my ear was familiar and those caramel eyes were familiar. He asked me what I was running from and he didn’t look surprised when I answered him with ‘you’. I know it doesn't make sense, running from the things you've always wanted but that, that was my way - it is my way. I had to anchor myself down with a seat belt at four; I saw my dream, my wish coming true, and I wanted to do nothing but run away from it and never look back. It wasn't familiar to me, family and people living within such a close proximity of one another, and there are certain doubts and 'what-if's' that accompany any and all changes, certain risks if you will. Regardless of how much I wanted something, or someone , I knew my desires for something more would always be accompanied by that uncertainty and definite change - that knowledge has always held me back, instilled a certain fear within me.

Sergio tried to tell me that the kiss meant nothing and, though I knew that to be true, I asked him why he had left me at the park if the kiss had meant what he said - nothing. I wasn’t used to doing that, asking questions I already knew the answer to, but Iker had taught me that even the stars were defined only by the person looking at them, that people redefined a lot of the things I claimed to already know. I could see Iker catching up with the two of us over Sergio’s shoulder - out of breath, sweat causing his flannel pajamas to stick to his skin - and I knew he’d tell Sergio why I was really running but I just, I just couldn't bring myself to tell him. Sergio said that he and Iker were friends, great friends, and that it was nothing compared to the kisses we had exchanged. Basically, he told me everything Iker had already told me except that there could be a difference in intent when it came to kissing... I had just figured out earlier that morning that people defined -certain- things for themselves, however, that was the moment I learned that they defined -everything- for themselves.

I didn’t get the chance to ask Sergio the difference between our kiss and the kiss he shared with Iker because Iker had caught up to us by that time and had immediately assured Sergio that he had been with me all night while apologizing to him for kissing him. They exchanged some words between the two of them, words I couldn’t hear and didn’t care to hear because I knew I wouldn't understand them as they were being spoken in Spanish, but I could see Sergio’s eyebrows raise and he was rubbing his hand against the back of his neck the same way he would when the teacher would ask us for our homework (before I would slip him a copy of the assignment I had completed double of). Sergio kept stealing glances in my direction but I didn’t know what he was looking for, so I settled for staring beyond him to where the sun had risen high enough to erase all of the orange, high enough to stain the sky with the richest of blues. I stared at the sky until I heard Iker’s shouted goodbye and I remember hearing the sounds of his footsteps greeting the pavement fading as the distance between us grew. Sergio shouted a comment about parents as Iker disappeared around a corner, I think it was supposed to be a joke but I really couldn’t say as he was neither smiling nor laughing, before he turned to me and motioned towards a nearby street with a slight jerk of his head.

We both walked back to his family’s home together, it turned out we were only a couple of blocks away, without uttering a single word within that time. It was the only time I felt awkward around Sergio, I felt as if I needed to explain myself and apologize but I didn't know how. When we reached the gates, Sergio took the lead and headed into the garden, beyond the gazebo of butterfly wings, and into a thicket of trees towards the edge of their property line. I remember hearing him mutter something about his parents and not wanting to deal with them within the moment and that we needed to talk any way. I didn’t know that there was anything to discuss; he allegedly loved me and I had to get away from that before something happened - good or bad - and changed our relationship. That’s all there was to it. Sergio, Sergio never thought the way I did though. No one ever did and I cannot even begin to describe how grateful I am for that.

> _“I know why you feel as if you, as if you need to run and get away from me, Cris. I do. I get it but if you do, if you run away, you’re going to rip me to shreds. I need you to know that, I need you to understand that. I need you as much as you need a better family and as much as you need to see those fucking stars every night.”_

I understood what I became to him, I understood what I meant to him, but, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make him understand that I was too ripped and too broken for him; I neither had enough pieces nor enough parts to complete him. I tried to explain to him that I would never be able to give back what he had given to me, what he wanted to give to me; he gave it to me anyway and I… I tried but my words, my words were empty and meaningless. I told him I was no good for him but my body, my body wasn't in agreement with my words, nothing was really, and I think Sergio knew that... No, I know he knew that. To this day I can’t describe it, the way he kissed me and the way he lightly rubbed circles on my cheek with his thumb. He wanted to show me how much I meant to him and I, I wanted to see if I could understand it. I couldn't but, what I find to be truly incredible about all of it... I spoke with an eighty year old man before I came to court this afternoon and he told me that he's been married for over fifty years and he still doesn't understand it. Apparently, it's something nobody can truly understand - that love thing.

For the second time within that same day, I felt as if I was catching a glimpse of normalcy. I was as overwhelmed as anyone would have been by the way he felt against me: like silk against my skin. Like anyone would have been within that very same situation, I was mesmerized by the way he whispered my name before he screamed it at the top of his lungs. I reacted the same way anyone would have when he touched me: both physically and emotionally. I never thought anyone could touch me in that way, in the way Sergio touched me, and I don't think anyone else ever will. I was nervous someone would hear as our thighs collided together; I remember hearing Luis' voice chanting ('faggot, faggot, faggot, faggot’) with each collision but, within that moment I didn’t care about words and what they meant or what they could mean... I remember everything had started blurring together, me and Sergio, the green of the earth and the blue of the sky, my senses, the sounds of Sergio’s parents shouting our names… The world seemed to spin faster and faster, though I know that to be physically impossible, and all of my senses seemed to be heightened until I suddenly lost the ability to see anything, anything other than stars…

We both should have known that they would come looking for us, even the worst of parents notice when you go missing for the entirety of a night, and they had certainly found us with the help of our very own screams as we climaxed together. Everything came together for me that day and everything fell apart for me within that very instant; it turns out I had simply been in the eye of the hurricane and I was about to be met with its inner wall. I don’t think either of us were prepared for what it would bring.

 


	19. Cris: Jenny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Self-destruct, sprial down, until your want becomes your need. Get up like I know you can or forever love the fall"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've been looking for the transition. I've always known what will happen next but I've been looking for the influence and I found it by way of my favourite song because... Portugal (they're in Spain in the moment but Portugal has decriminalized e'rything). You should definitely check it out (trigger: addiction | mental illness) as I've hyperlinked it in the endnotes. If you do watch, make sure you watch it through the end as it has a beautiful message.

I hadn’t responded to their presence in a way that would be deemed as typical, as normal. At least I don’t think that I had. It just, it just didn’t feel real to me at the time; it felt like one of those dreams you went through, trying to figure out the reality from the fantasy, if the pain you feel is real or being projected by your mind, if the colour is real or if it’s merely a reflection of a memory of colour. Surreal. I think that’s the word that most would use to describe it and I found myself in a state of reverie, smiling idiotically for a reason unknown even to myself and the people in front of me: his mother, his father… I felt as if I could stretch my hand out in front of me, push it straight through them as if they were some kind of vapor or perhaps a mirage of sorts, and that they would disperse with the dance of the wind. They would disperse and the sun would start to fall in reverse and time, yes time itself would be manipulated and would owe us minutes, hours, lifetimes and I could paint the sky green and the earth blue. None of it - her, them, him, this - felt real but, at the same time, who was I to ever know my own feelings, to feel connected with them so I guess, I suppose everything was as it always had been.

There had been a light breeze and I can remember the sounds of the leaves brushing up against one another in the trees surrounding us, a fruit being pulled down by the earth, and the sounds of voices starting to come into focus, a voice. I wasn’t sure if the clouds I had been seeing were being projected by my thoughts or if they were real, if I had found myself in the Earth’s dream or if I had merely projected my own stupor into that reality, but my head had felt a little light and I had felt a little tired, a little sleepy nonetheless. Perhaps it was because I hadn’t slept when the moon had occupied the sky, that I had chosen to swing the stars and the suns of the night away in the company of Iker. Perhaps it was because of the way I had expended myself in my attempts to escape the affections of Sergio. Perhaps it was because I had ultimately given in to them. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. Never certain, and this, this was no different. Still I felt lost and still order seemed to have collapsed under pressing chaos and I couldn’t grasp back on to the understanding of this reality, couldn’t force myself to see the situation for anything more than what it appeared to be.

I didn’t, I didn’t dwell on it though. I was too, too something to give much of anything much focus so I settled for mirroring Sergio’s actions by dressing though there was something different, something deliberate in the manner he dressed in. Like everything else that was happening within that moment, I had dismissed the differences, didn’t dwell on what I couldn’t understand without translation. All I knew was that I was dressing, was that Sergio was dressing, and that his parents had found us which must have meant that they had been searching for us. At some point, I had managed to catch Sergio’s eye - not literally, it’s just a metaphor - and I had opened my mouth to speak, had gone to tell him something I can’t quite remember, but no words had come out as I found myself incapable of speech in the presence of his parents. Instead, I had pressed my lips together in forfeit and had turned my attentions to his parents in a vain attempt to figure out what it was that they were doing out there, what their intentions were now that they had found us.

It’s like their faces had been burned in my memory. The way his father’s lips were turned down and pressed firmly together, the way his arms crossed against his chest and the manner he kept shaking his head in. He was either sad or angry, upset or disappointed; he could have been happy, I guess. Hell, he could have been anything but I suppose he simply was, whereas his mother... His mother had opted for a scold so loud it seemed to come out of her mouth without a sound, was conveyed and only understood by Sergio in her stance, in the raise of her eyebrows and in the widening of her eyes, in her squared shoulders and the deliberate shake of her head. I only knew that she wasn’t relieved, that she wasn’t upset because she had been worried simply because Sergio had told me that she had never associated with emotions that held a place within the ranges of positivity at any point. It was believable, probable, so I had never questioned him about it, had never asked him if that had been one of his speech figures or if it had been a fallacy as he had been dealing in absolutes.

Regardless, I had turned to Sergio so that I could see how he was interpreting the presence of his parents, hoping to find something that could be, I don’t know, reflective, mirrored. Something, anything to replace my own look of confusion but Sergio, he didn’t seem to be phased by either of them in the smallest degree. His mother’s words were missing every nerve she had sought out to strike - that’s a metaphor because you can’t really strike nerves with words - and his father, he seemed to be wearing a cloak of invisibility; at least that’s how Sergio saw him or, rather, didn’t see him. I guess they weren’t real to him within the moment either but he had found me again, had acknowledged me and had smiled at me as he had made his way over to me, had pulled my hand into his own. I was real to him. He was real to me. That’s all that had mattered in that moment of that reality or whatever it was.  

I can remember having resisted the urge to pull my hand away from his own and I can recall, I can remember looking down to where our fingers were entwined and tried to figure out what that had meant. I didn’t know what had changed, if anything had changed. I didn’t know if it was a different kind of contact than the ones we had shared on our way to school in our younger years or if it was the same. It didn’t matter but, at the same time, it did and that, that only confused me further.

He had started walking while I was lost somewhere within my own mind, while I was in our entwined fingers and the plausible semblance behind the contact, as he was pulling me along with him. I didn’t even realize that we had been walking past his parents until I had felt nails digging into the flesh of my arm, felt my fingers being forced away from Sergio’s, forced out of the five miniature hugs. Broken. I didn’t understand why she had done it but… broken. She had broken our hands apart and I had felt it, had hated what I was feeling and I felt myself… I think I might have felt too much and I don’t think that I knew what to do with it all. It was overwhelming and sickening, it was inordinate and objectionable. Metaphorically speaking, I suppose it was like having been starved for a week yet eating a week’s worth of food all in one day and experiencing this uncomfortable fullness because I hadn't paced myself. My inability to name it, to express it was merely another bite of food in a sense.

I don’t know if it was fortunate or not but it was relieving that I didn’t have to do anything. Sergio must have felt the same break I had felt but the difference, forever the difference between Sergio and myself was that he knew what to do with his break, with all of the feelings that accompanied it. He just, he just knew how to let them out of himself whereas I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry, to smile or to frown with mine. “What the fuck?”

His emotions seemed to be visible sometimes. Sometimes Iker could point to Sergio and say things like “that’s what rage looks like”, “that’s what happiness looks like”, “that’s what lost looks like” and he would as he’d help me identify with my emotions, with myself. Sergio had looked like rage within that moment, had looked like disgust as he had examined the nail marks embedded within his flesh and the red ones painting my own skin. I don’t know what he looked like when he turned back to his mother, found her standing directly in front of him with her hands on her hips… Perhaps he had smiled. Perhaps he hadn’t. “No wonder why Dad is divorcing your psychotic ass!”

I suppose my actions had caught his attentions as he took a moment to regard me, to shake his head as I had subtly pointed to his mother’s ass, the ass in question, and I can remember… He had actually stopped to smile before he mouthed the words “speech figures”, his smile fading quickly after as he had pressed on and had hurled every insult, every observed character flaw he could think of towards his mother. It was... I just didn't know what to do.  
  
His mother seemed to disregard his words, his thoughts completely though and she seemed to set her sights on his father. I didn’t understand it, he had just stood there as I had and yet he was the one who had managed to catch her attentions. I’ll forever be thankful that it was Jose with the target within the moment and not myself. I could honestly do without the added attentions and I was much too tired to cope with the exhaustion something like that would surely bring. “Mhm! You’re the reason he’s like this! You don’t discipline him enough, you aren’t hard enough on him and look at this! This is what he has turned into because of you! He stays out all night with some fag, he disrespects his mother and takes no responsibility of his own! Grow some balls, Jose, or we’ll be raising the next Unai! Fucking piece of shit, teaching our son to disrespect me. I’m not trying to be his friend, Jose, and you shouldn’t be either!”  
  
She had left too soon yet not soon enough. I had wanted to know about what had happened to Unai, if her Unai was Iker’s Unai… but that word (‘fag’ ‘fag’ ‘fag’ ‘fag’) had kept resonating relentlessly through my head and I had wanted it to stop. I had heard it earlier when I was with Sergio and I had… It was unsettling. I had turned my attentions back on Jose and Sergio and had found the two to be relieved with her departure so I stayed quiet, kept my questions of Unai to myself and watched as she stormed away in a huff, listened as she had muttered curses and swears of every variety just before she had flicked off some nosy passerby.

“She’s just under a lot of stress right now, Cristiano. She didn’t mean to call you outside of your name, I’m sure of it. You just… You guys shouldn’t have snuck out last night and you should have come home at a decent hour at the very least. I was worried sick when I found that the two of you had gone missing and had called everyone that you know, Sergio. I didn’t want to tell your mother but I had to. I was worried, what, with everything that had happened with Unai.” I watched as he shoved his hands into his pockets and wondered what he’d pull out of them, finding myself disappointed when he produced nothing from them a few moments later. “You just have to let us know where you’re going and where you’ll be at Sergio. Check in every once in a while.”  
  
I had looked up and had found Jose smiling at me so I had mirrored the action for a brief moment before I had remembered that I was on Sergio’s side in all of this and I realized that he was still frowning. I had quickly traded my smile for a frown and had earned a curious look from Jose in the process.

“So taking the initiative is now my responsibility even though I can hardly get a word in with the way you two fight? Yeah, sound advice, Dad. I’ll definitely consider it next time.” He gave his dad a thumbs up and so did I though Sergio had quickly pushed my hand down with a soft smile and a shake of the head, had explained himself with a simple word: sarcasm. Apparently, it’s a fine art and Sergio was the master of it. “I have to say that I think having a conversation with a brick wall would be more productive but hey…!” (“That isn’t very productive at all.” “That’s the point, Cris.” “Brick walls don’t have points. They have edges but they’re generally not sharp.” “That’s because they’re inanimate, Cris.” “...” “...” “Oh. Sharp. Intellectual. Witty. Haha, good one, Sergio.”) “Well, consider this as a check in, Dad. We’re going to the park.” I felt myself being tugged again but this time, this time a soft hand caught my shoulder and held me in place. As much as I hated being touched, it was nicer than Paqui's nails and it had hurt a lot less so I hadn’t complained.  
  
“No. You’re not going anywhere, son. I can’t allow you to do that. The two of you have already stayed out all night and who knows what could have happened to the two of you. You’re only fifteen years old, Sergio. You cannot come and go as you please. I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not as present as I need to be in your life but I care about you, Sergio. I’m trying but if you want your walls, that’s fine. I accept that but that doesn’t mean that I’m going to let you run your life into the ground.” I don’t know why he felt the need to hold my shoulder the whole time he had spoken but he had. “Besides, the two of you need to rest. You both look as if you haven’t seen sleep in days. I’ll make you something to eat first and then you’re going to go to sleep and when you wake up, when you wake up we’re going to talk about what I just saw out here… No, Sergio. Don’t even try to fight me on this. You are only fifteen years old and I know I’m not always going to be there but I’m going to make damn sure you’re at least being safe. Now go, both of you.”  
  
I had gone to walk inside immediately under Sergio’s father’s instruction. In truth, all of the running and the whatever that we had done had left me feeling sweaty and sticky, messy and disgusting and I had wanted to take a shower, to cleanse myself but Sergio’s hand had tightened around mine and he seemed to be staring at something or someone back towards the house when I had found him again. “Dad? Who is Mom talking to? Tell me she didn’t call the Figo’s, Dad. Dad?” There had been something in Sergio’s voice, something I had never heard within it before and I had no idea of what it was but my stomach tightened at the mere mentioning of the Figo’s.  
  
“She probably did call them. You can’t blame her for that, Sergio. We’re responsible for Cristiano while he’s with us and if the two of you are sneaking off in the middle of the night and are having, having sex then they have a right to know about it. Why is that such a problem, son? What’s wrong with the Figo’s?” Sergio and I had exchanged looks and neither of us had been willing to share the secret of our eleven or so years together. “Goddamnit, Sergio. If there’s something wrong, you know that you can talk to me, son.”  Nothing. We wouldn’t budge. “Cris? Is everything okay?”  
  
It hadn’t been but I hadn’t disclosed that information. I don’t remember too much after that day, the winter semester and the spring semester were all blurs and I’m not even sure if they had happened. Sergio and I, we hadn’t told Jose about Luis, we just, we couldn’t. I couldn’t but that’s when… We had gone up to Sergio's room and he had called someone, had said something that I hadn’t been bothered to catch, and he had kissed me some more. I had told him that I had liked it when he kissed me and that I had liked it when he had touched me outside. He had smiled at that and had assured me that he’d kiss me and touch me as much as I’d let him.

We had showered separately shortly after that and we had ate as much as we could (or at least I had as my stomach had suddenly felt full and uneasy for a reason I couldn’t quite explain, a reason I still can't explain). Sergio’s mother had gone and his father had allowed us to eat in peace though he had sworn that we’d all be speaking as soon as we woke up from a nice, much needed rest with excessive emphasis on the words “in your own rooms”. We had gone upstairs but, before we had parted ways to sleep, Sergio had managed to convince me to sneak out to the gazebo after waiting for ten minutes. I had told him that I had wanted to sleep. He had assured me that I would and he had even promised that it’d be the best sleep of my life with a kiss to follow the words.

The butterfly wings were still out there, beautiful still, even in their careless destruction and I had loved the sight of them dancing lightly in the breeze. Perhaps I had loved them even more than I had when they had been fluttering around. Perhaps. A bird was there, picking at a few of them, swallowing the beauty and even that, even that was beautiful but Sergio, Sergio didn't care as much for those things as I had. At least not in that moment as his eye seemed to have been caught by something beneath the seating, something beneath the swing: a bag.  
  
Sergio had said that they would help us forget, that they would help us forget about Luis, about Paqui. The little capsules would make them disintegrate. He said that they would help with the tightening in my stomach and with the repetitive ‘fag’ ‘fag ‘fag’ ‘fag’ echoing in my head ...and it did. I had always known that Sergio's favourite things were broken, he had told me when we were young and I had never forgotten it. I had just never realized how broken, how much more so I could be, we could be. That even ripped teddy bears popped seams and lost eyes; people were just less likely to care about already damaged teddies.

> He smiled as he found the other boy looking stupidly at him and he crossed the room, sat beside and fell against the other as he wrapped his arms around him. It was all he needed: Cris and this feeling, this feeling and Cris. “Do you hear the voices anymore, that word anymore?” His grin widened as Cristiano shook his head and he leaned forward, caught the other's lips with his own and moaned as he found the other responsive. Moments, minutes, perhaps hours counted off as they fucked on clouds and bliss, on euphoric detachment and the taste of their own carelessness.  
> 
> Neither had noticed that Iker had come in, that he had dropped their books in front of them until he had cleared his throat and had thrown their clothes at them with a couple of bananas that he must have grabbed out of Sergio’s kitchen. “We have school in forty-five minutes and neither of you are even dressed yet.” He opened up Sergio’s closet and pulled out the two boys' backpacks, stuffing the books he had just dropped onto the floor into them with haste as he rushed the two into their clothes, grabbing their (shockingly) completed homework off of each of their desks from their respective rooms and stuffing that into the bags, as well.
> 
> “Well, we were dressed, Iker,” Sergio laughed out as he hopped into his jeans while pulling his shirt off of Cristiano’s shoulder, watching as the other boy pulled on his shoes, “but then we weren’t.” He smiled as he found a flush creeping across Cristiano's features and he felt overwhelmed with the desire to either kiss it away or to cause it deepen over physical affections. "You're so gorgeous, Cris. You know that, don't you? Everything about you. You're the most beautiful person I've ever met".
> 
> Iker froze as he stopped packing their bags and eyed the two boys curiously, gasping as he eventually found their pupils dilated and their movements lazy, too lazy. (My. Fucking. God). “What the fuck, Sergio?" He made sure he whispered, hid his rage well as he had found himself unsure of how the whatever had affected Cris and he didn't want to make matters worse. He reached out and pulled Sergio closer to him by the other's bicep, words whispered yet firm. "What have you done, Sergio? What the, what the fuck do you think you're doing? You can’t…" He ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation, trying to figure out how to slap Sergio without slapping him, figuring out how to pull him in without pushing the other away, support him without supporting him. "Look, I know shit is hard right now and that life is being, I don’t know, tough as shit but Sergio...? Please. How long have you…? Oh fucking god, Sergio.” He threaded his fingers through his hair again and tried to catch his breath as he looked at the two dumbfucks in front of him. (No). One dumbfuck. One. “Sergio.” (No). Not dumb. Lost. Scared. His. "I can't lose someone else, Sergio."
> 
> “Chill, Iker,” Sergio casually assured the other as he ruffled the other's hair and moved away so he could pull on his own shoes just after he threw Cristiano’s shirt at him. “It’s completely safe, we’re careful. We’ve been doing it for, what? The past two months and nothing has happened. Well, I mean, we both feel fantastic but nothing bad has happened or anything. I protect Cris. Cris protects me. Castor and Pollux. Pollux and Castor."
> 
> “Yet,” Iker warned as he pulled on his own backpack’s strap. “Nothing bad has happened yet, Sergio. You’re too young to be… Can’t you go see a therapist or something? I know your parents can afford it and Cris, Cris can see one, too. I mean, sure, you are the way you are Cris but a therapist can help you cope with who you are and…”
> 
> Sergio scoffed before Iker could finish and shook his head dismissively. “He probably won’t even live to see a therapist long enough to reap the benefits of one,” Sergio blurted out though he stopped himself before he revealed too much, “and, let’s face it, I probably won’t either. Cris and I, we were just made to self-destruct, Iker. Just let us, let us deal with the burning fuse in our own way, alright?”
> 
> (No, it’s not) “Alright." He shook his head and found Cris still leaning against the wall, slightly more dressed though he seemed as if he had gone somewhere far off, leaving only a soft smile behind. It was haunting and Iker had a difficult time resisting the urge to hug him. He wasn't sure if Sergio was pulling Cris down with him or if Cris was sinking on his own but he wanted to pull him out, both of them out regardless. "Well, we’re going to be late if you guys don’t hurry.”

Iker was smart, is smart. Being right, it’s in his nature. Something bad did happen, just like he said it would, and when it did, Sergio's father was there, had sent him to rehab but Sergio... It was all my fault. Only Pollux held immortality and Castor, Castor wasn't who we thought he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Jenny](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_TWr2pj6kqM) by Nothing More


	20. Cris: Spanish Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes parents lie; the bad ones lie when it’s in their best interest, the good ones lie when it’s in the best interest of the child... but they all lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't the intended chapter but I personally feel it to be a better chapter and have chosen to omit the originally written chapter. ((I'll format it to be a stand-alone for those of you that may want to read it)). 
> 
> [ This Night](http://youtu.be/kmz7mV1WavA) by Black Lab

The trip back to Elvas was one of the longest of my life, not in a literal sense – though it was that, too – but in that it was one of the hardest. I hadn’t wanted to leave Spain. My clothes had felt heavy as I had packed my bags, as impossible of a notion as that may seem, and my suitcase seemed to have grown roots on the shelf in the Ramos’ closet. Sergio had been packing his own bags in his room and I had listened as his father had assured him that their trips to Portugal wouldn’t change simply because his mother had moved back in with her mother – “I still have my business and my clients in Elvas, Sergio. I promise you, you and Cris will still be together all the same” – but being apart from Sergio wasn’t where my fears had found base. Paqui had called the Figo’s after she and Jose had discovered the two of us, something Jose had confirmed after we had awakened from the four hours long slumber that had ensued the conversation prior, and I had known without ever having discussed it with Luis that the repercussions of my actions hadn’t yet reached their finality. Being in Spain, being with the Ramos’ and Iker, with Fernando... It was like being on another planet, like being given a second chance at life and being able to make it any way that I had wanted to make it. That drive back, that had felt like the pinch to awaken me from the dream of Spain.

Saying goodbye to Fernando, knowing very well that it could have been my last time ever seeing him... That was difficult. Saying goodbye to Iker? I would never, could never, so I hadn’t. He had promised me that we’d see each other in the winter and I had asked him how he could promise such a thing. He had simply smiled, laughed, and had given me a hug that I didn’t exactly fight off. (“...because we’re brothers and brothers, they always find their way back to one another. Somehow. Some way.” I hadn’t asked him of how Unai had found his way back to him – simply because I knew that I could never understand his answer regardless of how much I may have tried – but I knew that he had. I had dismissed my initial thoughts, had chosen to ignore DNA and genetics in an attempt to feel an invisible science. “I’ve never had a brother before.” I hadn’t meant to hurt him, but Iker had cried.

As soon as Iker had left with Fernando glued to his side (not literally as that would have been cruel), Sergio had given me one of the little capsules for the drive back, assuring me that it would “help soothe [my] nerves”, but it had seemed to be doing nothing of the sort; it seemed to have heightened them in actuality. I had turned to tell him as much, but he had already passed out despite the fact that we hadn’t even left Seville’s city limits; Sergio had always taken more of the little capsules, too many of the little capsules. His father had been driving and his mother had remained in Camas – the summer before had been her last in Portugal and, we’d eventually learn, her last with Sergio – so he had forced me into the passenger’s seat as the sounds of Sergio’s snores filled the car and as his drool stained the car window. It was nice in that he hadn’t bothered with the small talk; I’m not too sure of what Sergio would tell his father about me when they’d talk (every Wednesday at 1800 since the day we had been found in one another’s arms) but he seemed to have a fairly decent understanding of my disinterest in idle chitchat, knew not to touch me in any kind of way and he seemed to know to speak candidly with me when he did address me. I’d catch him looking at me on occasion on that drive, a question evident in his gaze and a query on his tongue, but he seemed to have been struggling in finding the sounds. “I’m not cold.” As I’ve said countless times before, I’m pretty shit when it comes to reading people.

He had simply laughed as he had bumped down the car’s air conditioning a few more notches, had reached out and had fiddled with the radio until the music from some oldies station filled the car. I disapproved, and Jose isn’t as much shit when it comes to reading people so he had laughed a little more and had knocked down the volume just before pulling the car into some gas station. I hadn’t understood why as the tank was still full and as Sergio had crammed the empty row of seats in the back with suitcases filled with more snacks than clothing. As he had unfastened his seatbelt, I figured he had to go to the bathroom until his voice found me. “Your turn to drive, Cris.” He laughed as I had immediately refused – I had only turned sixteen that February in Seville and had only just received my license the month before due to my citizenship – but he had climbed out of the car despite my protests. “Oh, shut up and get your ass in the driver’s seat.”

He had talked me through the directions so I’d have a gist of which turns I should make, so I’d have a general idea of what direction I should be going in, and smiled whenever I would ask him a question about whatever happened to be puzzling me on the map. I refused to pull out of the station until I had a clear understanding of where I was going and that only seemed to make his smile grow, inspired a laugh to escape his lips. “Sergio would have left half an inch of rubber on the pavement as soon as his foot had found the pedal, driving us twenty miles in the wrong direction and halfway to our graves.” I hadn’t known what he had meant, which aspect of Sergio's overly complex personality he was referring to, but his smile had softened as he had spoken of Sergio and that had made me smile. I could see him steal a glance in Sergio’s direction by way of the rearview mirror, his smile softening further still as he had found him still snoring in the backseat. One day I’d learn that that was what the love between father and son looked like, should look like. He caught me staring at him and he offered me a similar smile, it’s difference in its weight. “I’m not going to lie to you, Cristiano... When I had first found out that Sergio liked boys in the way that he likes boys, likes you, I wasn’t happy. No, sir. It took me a lot of time, a lot of thought and a hell of a lot of prayer to come to grips with the fact that I may never be a grandfather, that my family name may very well die out... I had to let go of a lot of selfishness, but this much I can tell you: I couldn’t be happier that he has someone like you to keep him grounded.”

I had been confused and I hadn’t bothered with an attempt to hide it as I had been caught up in adjusting the side view mirrors and the rearview mirror, the seat placement and nearly everything else to include the radio station. ((Someone like me)). I had been distracted, had dropped my guard without having realized it. “I don’t understand why you would like that I keep getting him into trouble with you. Shouldn’t that disturb you rather than delight you?” I had caught myself a bit too late, and I had felt something that I couldn’t quite identify as I had found myself caught in the question of his stare. I couldn’t identify it but there had definitely been a hint of fear within that feeling; when I was three a doctor had told my caregivers that I was broken and torn and then, at sixteen, a doctor was staring at me once more, seeing the same rips and tears, seeing the same broken strings that the other had. Doctor Ramos had always been real; I just hadn’t met him when he was four years old and he had been staring at me from the passenger’s seat.

“You’re autistic.” It was in the way that he had said it, as if he had just unraveled one of the universe’s great mysteries and I couldn’t... I was terrified of what he may have been thinking, of what he might have said next... No one wants broken things for themselves, much less for their child; I had known this, had always known this, but I hadn’t wanted to wake up from the dream of Spain, hadn’t wanted to hear the reality escaping from his lips. His child deserved the world and I wouldn’t even be able to give him all of myself, fuck, half of myself; his child deserved more, deserved the best... I had felt overwhelmed by so much that I couldn’t understand, even with all the time ever constructed on my side; I couldn’t even begin to fathom how I would muddle through the situation that had formed – between us, within my head – so I decided to remove myself from it. I had thrown myself out of the car before he could say another word, had ran into the store and had locked myself within its restroom. Naturally he had followed, had chased after me shouting my name across the parking lot until he was standing on the other side of the locked restroom door... but I hadn’t wanted to talk to that Ramos anymore. I simply wanted for Sergio to wake up but at the same time, at the same time I didn’t. In my mind, he needed to sleep so that I could wake up... and I did. I just needed to convince myself to stay awake.

“I know why you ran, Cris. I do... but I promise you that I didn’t say that in the manner that you perceived it as being said.” I had been confused by what he was saying. He couldn’t possibly have known how I had perceived his remark, so he couldn’t possibly promise that he hadn’t made his remark in the manner that I had perceived it to have been made. I told him as much just before I told him that I didn’t wish to speak with him any longer but, that if it was okay with him, I would have liked to say goodbye to Sergio before they went on their way. “I’m not going to leave you at some gas station, Cris. You’re going to have to come out of there and you’re going to march your ass, and the rest of yourself, back to the car, but before you do all of that, I would very much like to speak with you.”

“I would very much like for you to go away...” I had been a braver person behind a closed door. I couldn’t see his reactions and I couldn’t be affected by his actions; it was just his words and, even then, he couldn’t witness my confusion as they found me, couldn’t see the hesitancy in my responses though I’m certain he could hear it. Life needs more closed doors... “and I’d rather you leave me here than be taken back to the Figo’s.” The Figo’s: I had slipped and had said the Figo’s rather than Elvas... and I had lost my shield. The attendant had provided the key to the lock and Jose was staring at me not long after I heard it turning within its groove, but I was suddenly more afraid than I had been when I had slipped into that bathroom to begin with. I didn’t care about how much it had smelled in there, or that people had disastrously missed the trash with their used toilet paper, I had no intention of leaving that filthy restroom with that man and his questions. “No, please! I don’t know him!” It hadn’t been a lie – not really as I didn’t know Jose all that well, though I had been doing my best impression of the telenovelas Sergio’s mother had so often watched – but I had never intended for the attendant to call the police.

I was still standing within the restroom when the store was being painted with the blues and reds of their flashing lights, listening quietly as Jose attempted to explain the situation to them. I had backed away from them when they had filled the doorframe with their bodies – four uniformed police officers of the Spanish law – and I had winced as they had attempted to expound on why they were there, as if I hadn’t been the one to knock over the first domino, so to speak. I could see Jose flinching from behind them, as well, and I had felt my cheeks flush as he had informed them that I wasn’t a six-year-old and that they shouldn’t have spoken to me as such. That had led to another thirty minutes of questions in which Jose became Doctor Ramos and showcased his knowledge of Asperger’s before at least one of them caught on and reappeared in the doorframe of the restroom. “That was kind of a dick move, don’t you think?” I knew what that had meant merely because Sergio had said it often enough and had explained the meaning of that particular saying nearly as often. I had mumbled out something of an apology but she had waved me off and had motioned for me to come out of the bathroom. “Let’s get the two of you back on the road again.”

Another hour had passed before we were ‘on the road again’ – mainly because I was resistant towards the notion of making a sworn statement to the police, partly because I had refused to get back into the car – and, as the colours on the other side of the window had finally started to blur together once more, I had heard Jose dialing what had to be Luis’ number, explaining to him that there had been an ‘incident’ and that we’d be arriving a day behind schedule. I hadn’t understood as four hours wasn’t the equivalent to a day and Elvas was no more than two hours away from where we had pulled off, but I had come to understand as Jose had pulled into the parking lot of some hotel close to two hours later. If I had been speaking with the man, I would have pointed out that the Portuguese border would be visible from our hotel room but I hadn’t been, so I settled for arousing Sergio from his coma-like, drug-induced sleep as Jose had checked us in.

“Holy shit. It took us six hours to get here? Which of the forgotten countries did dad’s map take us to? ...and why didn’t you wake me up for it?” Sergio’s confusion had only deepened when he had realized where we were or, more importantly, where we weren’t and I remember thinking it a miracle that he hadn’t broken his neck when he had turned to look at me. “What the fuck happened?”

“You fell asleep.” His father had been equally withholding as we had made our way to the room – a suite, really – and I felt something broiling up from within me as he drilled his father and myself over what had transpired while he was sleeping. I had winced as he threw curses in both of our directions, as he called both of us out of our names and earned a concerned look from his father; the crash after had always made him more aggressive, more tenacious but his father hadn’t known of the capsules nor their affect, and he had usually spared me of his hostilities. “Why the hell are you two acting like...? You’re acting like fucking assholes.” He had been worried and scared, but so had I. “Why the fuck are we here? You can practically see Elvas from here.” I had made my way into one of the rooms before Sergio had even set foot into the suite and his father had taken another, informing Sergio that he needed to sleep in his own room, as per usual. “Even if Cristiano and I shared a bed, his ass would be on the fucking couch tonight.” I hadn’t known what it had meant but it hadn’t sounded ideal, let alone nice, and the slamming of his door that had followed justified the uneasiness his words had caused me.

Sergio’s father had knocked on my door not even five minutes later, a door that I had only opened in the hopes that I would find an apologetic Sergio on the other side, informing me that we needed to talk before he made his way over to the room’s armchair. I had left the door open in the event that I needed to run again, in case Sergio was eavesdropping and decided to spare me of whatever was about to take place, in case there was a piece of Luis within Jose... He hadn’t seemed to mind but it’s not like I would have noticed if he did. “For starters, I don’t care that you’re autistic. Whatever form of it you happen to have, it’s obviously high-functioning and you’ve obviously been managing it just fine.” I had wanted to correct him, had wanted to tell of him that ‘managing’ and ‘just fine’ weren’t enough for me. I wanted normal... but this Ramos wasn’t mine, wasn’t familiar, wasn’t safe. “I want to know why you ran when I said it. It’s clear to me that you’ve known of your autism for quite some time now, that it’s normalized for you which is great, but that contradicts the running. Why are you running from what you know?”

He was as stubborn as Sergio, rather, Sergio was as stubborn as he had seemed to be. “...because what I know is that no one likes rips and tears, no one likes broken things and broken strings. I know that staying with your son is what was once described as selfish to me, that the feelings I have with him and my need to feel them must be rooted in selfishness, as he deserves more than a fragmented person. I know that I could never complete another person in the same manner that I have failed to complete another family. I know that a father should want what’s best for his child and that I’m... I know that I’m not what’s best for anyone. I think it’s normal to run from these kinds of truths.”

He had simply nodded. “...but that’s your truth and your truth alone. That isn’t my truth, and my truth isn’t Sergio’s truth.” Sometimes I can still hear his words and sometimes I can still feel his hand falling against my knee; in that moment, flashes of Luis and his hands, flashes of what those hands had done to me had paralyzed me, but the feeling (or lack of) had been fleeting as he had merely squeezed it. “You know what a fallacy is, better than most people, that what you’re saying couldn’t possibly be an absolute truth, so why are you choosing to still believe it?” He had stared at me after he had asked the question and I had simply sat within the silence, unsure of what I should say, if I should say anything. “Besides, you’re not ripped and you’re not torn, there’s nothing missing from within you. You’re just wired a little differently but the connections, they’re all there. Trust me – you have to, I’m a doctor – I know broken when I see it, it puts food on my table every night, and you most certainly are not broken.” I hadn’t known what he had meant about broken putting food on his table but the rest of it... I don’t why I had started crying – I hadn’t been sad and I certainly hadn’t been hurt – but my cheeks had been wet nonetheless. Arms had wrapped around me shortly after and a familiar heartbeat had pulsed against my cheek as Sergio’s father confirmed what I had already felt – “were you eavesdropping just outside of the door or did you come to apologize for your horrific behavior... because I have to say that your timing is impeccable.”

We had stepped out to grab some ice cream from a nearby shoppe shorty after Sergio had managed to cough up something of an apology for the two of us, after his father had informed him of my antics at the gas station. (“Cris did what...?” “I’m sorry that my son has proven to be such a bad influence on you. Please, don’t sue us. I just went through a divorce and I don’t know if I can take all of that on right now.” “Sue him, Cris. We can get our own place together on some mountain top where you can see the stars as clear and as plainly as you see me. If you saw stars plainly, which you don’t.” “I think that would disavow my case and I would probably have to return all of my winnings to your father. It is a nice thought, though.”) Sergio had started shoveling his ice cream into his mouth as soon as the little tub had been placed within his grasp but... I had felt full – “full of butterflies” or so said Alex when he had referred to those feelings – and was still anticipating the second part of the conversation with Jose. It came as we strolled through a dog park, ice cream still in hand. “Are either of you going to tell me why you hate the Figo’s so much any time soon, or are we going to have to spend a year eating ice cream and pretending to like poodles?”

Sergio had moved in front of me, between myself and his father, as if the mere question surrounding my relationship with the Figo’s could harm me in a way that it already hadn’t, and I had felt myself shrinking within his shadow in the same way that elderly people shrink within their skin. I had wanted the question to go away, taking with it Luis Figo and all of Portugal, but I hadn’t been blindsided by it as Sergio had. I remember leaning forward, feeling my breath bounce off of the shell of Sergio’s ear (“I should tell him”), and I remember the way he held me after I had whispered in his ear, the feel of his heart beating erratically within his chest. The feeling of his fingers threading through my hair. The feeling of his breath finding my ear... “I’d rather do it,” and I didn’t need to ask him why. My blunted tones and affected expressions had never gone well with those kinds of secrets.

I was terrified as I had laid in bed that night, terrified as my secret had bled out from the part of Sergio’s lips and had ceased to be our not-so-little secret. Sergio’s father hadn’t been bothered by the revelation of my Asperger’s and he held no aversion to the fact that his son had chosen to love a boy that could never return that love in full, but he was finding out that ‘broken’ referred to more than just autism, referred to a part of me that wasn’t a part of me. I couldn’t fall asleep, no matter how hard I had tried and try I had. I was still awake when Sergio had slipped through my bedroom door with his father’s usual disapproval lacking in the background, was still awake when he wrapped his arms around me and held me tighter than he ever had before, was still awake when he told me that he loved me in a cracked voice and as the wet of his tears pressed against my forehead... was still awake when Child Protective Services arrived, my caseworker from so many years before in their shadow.

((“I promise you, you and Cris will still be together all the same.”)) Sometimes parents lie; the bad ones lie when it’s in their best interest, the good ones lie when it’s in the best interest of the child... but they all lie.

I was finally leaving Spain, finally being awakened from the dream of the Spanish and being transported back to Elvas, even if only to gather my things.

We didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye.


End file.
